


Open Ears and Closed Hearts

by Nyxelestia



Series: Virtues, Chicken, and Destiny [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Episode: s04e11 The Hunter's Heart, Feels, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jealousy, Magic Reveal, Other, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Post-Betrayal, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slow Build, Trust Issues, arthur fixes it, canon AU, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6198583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i><b>(</b>Loyalty<b>)</b></i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div><br/>Merlin's revelation has left Arthur and his Knights shattered, Princess Mithian has come offering a practical marriage deal to unite Camelot and Nemeth, and Agravaine continues his manipulations. Arthur is scrabbling to recover his friendships, prevent a marriage deal, and prepare for whatever Morgana is planning next - and barely keeping from falling over the edge.<p>"No heart, no heartbreak" is starting to sound better and better every day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samara2187](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samara2187/gifts).



> **A Good Man** – _Sorrow_  
>  **Tear the Lies Asunder** – _Trust_  
>  **Drop of Blood in the Dawn** – _Contrition_  
>  **Shining Shards of Shattered Hearts** – _Faith_  
>  **Pouring Out a Soul** – _Respect_  
>  **Open Ears and Closed Hearts** – _Loyalty_

~*~

“…to discuss the territory of Gedref with Princess Mithian of Nemeth,” Arthur said. It was probably just as well that he’d actually practiced saying this speech this morning. He managed to get the words out even whilst his throat closed up. He could practically see ‘marriage negotiations’ crossing everyone’s minds as he spoke. “We have many tariffs, trade routes, and other benefits up for negotiation, as well as word of arms and goods. The Hunt and Feast of Ostara will not be interrupted.”

Later, Arthur was completely unsurprised to see Agravaine and two councilors sidle up to him during the precursor to the council meeting. His uncle said, “You can secure the land by marrying her.”

“I’m already betrothed to someone else,” Arthur said. “And, we don’t need the land that badly. There are many other benefits to be gained if we give it away.” He paused. “I’m hoping for an alliance that will guarantee us arms and soldiers the next time we go to war.”

“You expect us to be going to war? With who?” Agravaine asked.

“…I don’t know,” Arthur said carefully. “But with all the attacks that have been happening against my Court, I know something is coming. And I want to be ready for it.”

Agravaine sighed as the councilors drifted away. “Do not discount it, and do not hang up all your hopes on a serving girl that you’ve hidden away somewhere. The Hunt of Ostara is coming up – why not make a present of whatever you slay?”

“I am not courting her, Agravaine,” Arthur said. “I’ve made my ideals clear to this court in that I am marrying someone who I care for and who will rule Camelot well – not someone who will bring me fleeting advantages and then become a decoration to my family tree.”

“You act as if the two are mutually exclusive,” Agravaine said. “At least try? Give her a nice present, perhaps take her out to the forest for any kind of solitary venture and talk. Try. Your father courted your mother immensely, and look at their legacy – a marriage of love that benefitted them politically.”

“My parents’ marriage was arranged,” Arthur said with a frown. “I mean, yes, they were lucky enough to fall in love afterwards, but-”

“And how do you think that happened?” Agravaine asked with an amused expression. “Despite the match, your father courted her. Irritated her at the start, but they grew on each other none the less.”

Agravaine reached out and laid a paternal hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur didn’t bother trying not to hate himself for leaning into the touch.

“I know you think your only choices are a happy marriage or a useful one, but Arthur – you can have both,” Agravaine said gently. “You will have to work for it, and perhaps the happiness will not be the same. But your parents managed it, and I am absolutely sure you can, too.”

“…thank you, Agravaine,” Arthur said, desperately wishing that were true. “I appreciate the support.”

With a pat to his shoulder and an avuncular smile, Agravaine headed off after the other councilors.

Arthur turned to see Leon waiting for him, and together they made their way up through the castle towards the residential floors.

For a few moments, they walked in silence. Then Leon broke it – shattered it with a grave and quiet tone that belied the man’s easy-going nature.

“Your sentimentality is going to get us all killed,” Leon said calmly when they reached an empty corridor.

“I’m not stupid,” Arthur said, facing heating up as he thought of how much Agravaine was manipulating him. “I know full well what Agravaine is trying to do-”

“And you’re still falling for it,” Leon said, looking at Arthur from the corner of his eye as his pace slowed considerably. “And quite frankly, he’s not the only one I’m talking about.”

“…Merlin,” Arthur sighed out, not even asking if that was who the man meant.

Leon nodded. “What are you going to do about him?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, stopping completely. This corridor was more of a balcony, open windows overlooking the courtyard from several stories high. “At this point, we’re pretty much ignoring it, and not talking about it at all.”

“What _do_ you talk about?”

“Lately? Nothing.”

“But he’s still your manservant,” Leon said in confusion. “How-”

“I’m not counting discussion of chores as ‘talking’, though I barely have to say anything to him about those, either.” Arthur leaned on the stone edge of the bottom of the window, and shook his head despairingly as he chuckled humorlessly. “He’s been the perfect servant, lately, doing all his chores on time, with barely a word, and staying out of sight as much as possible.” He paused. “And honestly? It’s driving me mad. He’s not even arguing with George over my food!”

“What if he’s putting something in your food?” Leon asked quietly. Arthur opened his mouth to retort but Leon cut him off. “No, sire, listen to me – _please_. I like Merlin, I really do. But we also liked Morgana and Agravaine and look how they turned out. And I’m not discounting everything he’s been through with us. I realize how much you trust Merlin. But at this point, we need to be prepared for the possibility that he might be a traitor, too.”

“If I have to prepare for _him_ being yet another traitor, I will have to be prepared for the possibility of anybody and everybody being a traitor,” Arthur said.

“After Morgana and Agravaine? You should be,” Leon said. “And that includes me.”

Arthur sighed, and spared a moment to look out over the courtyard with far more attention than it really needed, right now.

“Leon…I’m tired. I can spend days fighting and months on war campaigns just fine, but this?” Arthur shook his head and pushed off the lip of the balcony, standing fully upright again. “If any of you – Merlin, Gwen, the knights – turn out to be a traitor, then…what’s the point of fighting? I’ll take it as a sign from the world at large that I’m not meant to be king.”

Leon’s eyes widened in alarm. “Arthur, you can’t just give up-”

“I wouldn’t be giving up, Leon, it would be conceding gracefully.” Arthur pursed his lips. “Besides, if Merlin turned out to be a traitor, I’m not even sure how many of the others would stay loyal to me.”

“If it helps any, I’ll always follow you,” Leon said. “Though I won’t blame you if, after all this talk of liars and traitors, it didn’t.”

“I trust you and believe you, Leon,” Arthur said diplomatically.

“…but I take it that it didn’t help?” Leon said sympathetically.

Arthur nodded. “I still appreciate it, though.”

Fighting back a sigh and turning on the balls of his feet, Arthur started down the corridor again. “Let’s go, eat our lunches and rest before afternoon training. We can deal with treachery later.”

“…of course, sire,” Leon said, following two steps behind him.

~*~

Arthur was largely unsurprised to see Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival waiting for him in his rooms. Percival was pacing as he said something, Elyan was making notes and sorting through small slips of parchment on the table, and Gwaine was slumped over, clutching an apparently-empty goblet as he read a single slip of parchment. Or stared at it, at least.

“I trust the river patrols went well?” Arthur asked as he sat down.

“Mostly,” Elyan said. “Two of the dams should be replaced, and one of them could use some guards during the spring thaw – no bandits or group attacks likely, but some of the gaps seem to suggest smugglers.”

Arthur frowned. “Is it those blasted frankincense smugglers?”

“No,” Percival said. “I’m telling you, they’re taking the forest.”

“And I’m telling you that with all the bandits around, the forest is a stupid way to go,” Elyan said.

Elyan and Percival kept going back and forth about potential smuggling paths, while Gwaine just sighed, set his goblet to the side, and took over the task of sorting out the slips of parchment, notes on different river-bends scattering the wooden surface as he kept moving them around and around.

It was…almost business as usual. It was stilted and much quieter, and Gwaine’s silence was like a festering wound, but it was something he knew.

And then there was a knock at the door.

A single, perfunctory knock, which was how Merlin announced himself these days, and when Arthur shouted, “Enter!” at the door, the knights all quieted as Merlin stepped in, a platter of fruits, meats, cheeses, and bread in one hand, with a wine pitcher in the other.

The room was dead silent as Merlin looked steadfastly at the floor while approaching the table, and set the knights’ half-lunch down, before quickly going over to the corners to collect Arthur’s laundry.

Arthur doubted he’d ever seem Merlin work so fast.

Merlin had collected everything in record time and was right back at the door to leave, turning back only once to glance at Arthur and the knights.

Arthur couldn’t hide his slight flinch when Merlin bowed his head in a manner befitting his station as he left.

He turned his own attention back to the knights, only to see Gwaine smirking at him.

“See, _that_ , Princess? That right there? That’s why I know I’ll never have to choose between you two. You get like this if he so much as turns too respectful, then I don’t think anyone wants to see what you’d be like without him around at all. Nothing short of being a completely and total traitor to Camelot would make you get rid of him.”

“Yes, but which of them would have to be the traitor for that to happen?” Elyan asked, kind tone belying the bone-dry wit in a manner that made Arthur long for both their sisters.

“Would it matter?” Percival said, words humorous but eyes serious as he and Elyan took their seats. “Either one is about as likely.”

Arthur snorted at that. Unless Merlin wasn’t who he seemed at all, then that was pretty much true.

“Probably just as well,” Gwaine said to Arthur as he reached for the wine pitcher. “I’d hate to choose Merlin over you…” He didn’t life his head, just his gaze, as he looked Arthur dead in the eye. “But I will if I have to.”

“Funny,” Arthur said. “That doesn’t make me feel any better or worse than Leon promising to follow me if push comes to shove.”

“Are you surprised?” Percival asked.

“No,” Arthur said, before looking at Elyan. “What about you?”

Elyan froze, the faint traces of humor that had been struggling to come out dying under Arthur’s gaze. Then he leaned forward, chainmail clinking against the edge of the table as he pressed his elbows into the warm wood. He dragged his hands down his face before looking at Arthur and saying, “Gwen is the only family I have left. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Even if I hate myself at the end of it.”

“That makes me feel a better than anything else I’ve heard so far,” Arthur admitted.

He turned to Percival, but before he could open his mouth to ask, the knight looked him dead-on and firmly said, “No.”

“‘No’?” Arthur asked in surprise.

“This is not a choice I will ever have to make for real,” Percival said. “And if I did? Everything would have changed so much that any decision I make beforehand would be pointless. Making a choice now would only serve to divide us and pick sides, and I refuse to do so.”

“Which means he has no idea,” Gwaine said derisively, fingers going white in their grip around the goblet.

“I don’t,” Percival agreed sharply, looking sidelong at Gwaine. “And I consider that a good thing.”

“You consider it a good thing that you don’t know where your loyalties lie?” Gwaine asked harshly.

“I know _exactly_ where my loyalties lie!” Percival snapped. Arthur jerked back and stared with saucer-wide eyes. He didn't even know the man was _capable_ of a voice that sharp. “When I knelt to become a knight, I was kneeling before Arthur _and_ Merlin _and_ Gwen. We knelt to the three of them together – and to each other!”

Percival turned in his seat to glare at Gwaine, who did not look at Percival any higher than the man’s gargantuan shoulder.

“I’m not picking any sides now because I already picked a side back then. I knelt for Camelot, and for us. Together.

The knight stood up, startling the three of them when his chair scraped back and nearly toppled over in the process. He loomed over the three of them as he looked down at Gwaine, who in turned looked up at him, breathless in the face of the cold anger emanating from the largest knight.

“Do not tell me to pick a _false_ loyalty just because you have already forgotten your real one.”

Percival moved and pushed his chair in, the scrape of wood against stone a deafening sound in their stunned silence. He nodded at Arthur in perfunctory respect that was about as painful to take as Merlin’s silence, then he strode out of the room.

The gentle thud of the door closing carefully was worse than if he’d slammed it shut with the full force of his strength.

“…so _that’s_ what an angry Percival looks like,” Gwaine drawled as he reached out for the pitcher. Arthur would have bought the casual tone if it hadn’t been for the devastation in the man’s eyes and how his hand shook so much that he lifted up the pitcher and promptly had to set it back down.

Arthur took two goblets sitting on the edge of the table and poured wine for all three of them. He, at least, really needed it.

They all did.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please tell me what you think. Concrit is ♥!
> 
> _**Preview of the next chapter:** _
> 
> _He felt cold despite the large fire and warm night as he stared at the goblet hovering in midair, at the wine floating in a streak expelled from it, an aberration to the laws of nature just off the edge of his table._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter beta'd by the wonderful [Samara2187](http://archiveofourown.org/users/samara2187). Thank you so much! ♥

~*~

“It’s like they’re deaf,” Arthur grumbled as Lord Dunham and Sir Borson yet again fought over the potential benefits of Arthur marrying Mithian – despite the fact this was the third time in this council meeting alone that Arthur had said he wasn’t going to.

He waited for a response out of habit, but Merlin refilled his wine goblet silently, then stepped back to his proper position.

Arthur never thought he would hate propriety so much.

“Should I order everyone to have their ears checked by Gaius?” Arthur said to the table at large, keeping to a reasonable volume by trying to impress a hard sword’s edge in his tone of voice. Channeling his inner Uther worked on the half of the table closer to him.

Channeling his inner Morgana, and glaring quietly until the rest of the table realized his stormy expression was directed at _them_ worked well, too.

Unfortunately, it worked a little too well.

“Perhaps we should discuss the latest reports of movements of the Lady Morgana,” Lord Anfwyn chimed in after an awkwardly tense silence. “And try to predict her next location-”

Lord Dunham snorted, and Arthur had to agree.

“We need to at least try,” Lord Anfwyn snapped. “We cannot just sit here and wait!”

“There is not much to predict,” Agravaine said. “Her movements are too erratic to be able to extrapolate anything.”

“Have we taken a closer look at her tutoring?” Anfwyn tried. “If she is still working from whatever she learned in her youth-”

“She isn’t using the methods she did back when we knew her,” Arthur said.

“She had never been one for such open attacks prior to the invasion,” Gaius added in. “So whatever basis of stratagems she is operating from, it is something we did not teach her.”

“So she’s not acting like herself,” Anfwyn said with a dejected sigh.

“If Morgana were anything like her old self, she’d already _have_ Camelot,” Arthur pointed out, looking down ruefully into his wine goblet.

He was so tired – and not just because of the wine.

“She’s not making decisions like someone who has grown up in the Court, or any Court for that matter,” Arthur continued, looking up at his councilmen. “She’s working like someone who has only ever heard stories of a Court, the way Morgause was acting when she first…came…here…”

_Morgause_.

By all accounts, she had died sometime between the sisters’ invasion and the incident with the Dorocha.

But maybe she didn’t exactly stay dead.

Arthur could feel pieces falling into place, not quite fitting but at least making sense, making a pattern, liking building a bridge with uncut logs, barely functional but there-

“Sire?” Agravaine asked. Arthur looked up from his drink to see all his councilmen looking up at him.

This would make so, _so_ much more sense than anything else going on in his life right now.

“…sire?” Geoffrey asked.

“Gaius,” Arthur said, leaning forward towards the man. “If a sorcerer were to enchant someone else to their way of thinking, could that enchantment last even after the sorcerer’s death?”

“That’s… _possible_ ,” Gaius said carefully, measuring each word. “But not strictly likely. It would depend on the manner of casting. May I ask why-”

“What about possession?” Arthur asked. “Would Morgause’s death still have opened the gate for the Dorocha if she’d possessed Morgana right before? Or for them to have ‘exchanged places’, in a manner of speaking?”

“Arthur, what’s the point of all this?” Agravaine asked.

Arthur leaned back in his seat as he tried to pull everything together cohesively, in a way that made sense outside of his own head.

“As many of you pointed out just now, Morgana is not acting like her old self,” he said finally. “What if that’s because she _isn’t_ her old self?”

Several of the old men looked amongst themselves uncomfortably.

“It would explain so much,” Arthur plowed on. “She’s moving and acting like Morgause would, like someone who hadn’t grown up in the Court or Camelot and knows its inner workings. Morgause was the one who had instigated military attacks on Camelot – what if she effectively still is? Morgana is a good warrior, but she was a fantastic stateswoman first – yet there is nothing to show that she has made so much as an attempt at getting the throne back her way before trying it Morgause’s way.”

“It’s been years, sire,” Sir Borson started.

“And magic is quite old, or at least some spells can be.” Arthur gestured sweepingly at the maps. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong! What if we’ve been trying to deal with Morgana when we really should have been trying to deal with Morgause? Morgana was gone for over a year, who knows what Morgause could have done to her-”

“And if she _were_?” Lord Dunham asked critically. “What then? What would change, sire?”

“For one thing, we would be better able to predict the next action when we know who it’s really coming from,” Arthur stated.

“And when we capture her?” Geoffrey asked softly, though still loud enough to be heard by the entire table. “What then?”

That got Arthur to stop.

Damn. What _would_ happen when they caught her, if she had been under Morgause’s influence the whole time?

Arthur turned to Gaius.

“If she _is_ under some kind of magical influence, can you get rid of it?”

For the briefest second, Gaius glanced behind Arthur, and he nearly turned around at the realization of who he should _really_ be asking such questions.

Or rather, who he may have been indirectly asking all along.

He didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know, sire,” Gaius said finally. “I could try, or find others who could, but – Morgause is a powerful sorcerer. It may not be possible.”

Arthur sighed, falling back in his chair.

It was something, right?

“What would be the point of even trying, sire?” Borson asked. “She would hardly be innocent!”

“She wouldn’t be guilty, either,” Arthur pointed out. “Besides-”

“ _Sire_ ,” Agravaine said. “I was not even here for her attack, but I saw the devastation she wrought on the kingdom-”

“Exactly!” Arthur cried out, sitting up again. “Morgana _loved_ the people, and the kingdom. She had managed over a dozen charitable projects during her years as my father’s ward. She stole food from the castle to feed the starving during the famine. She risked her life to help defend a village from bandits in another kingdom entirely.”

He very nearly picked up his goblet to take another drink, but resisted. Things were just starting to make sense, again, for the first time in weeks, and he was in no hurry to lose that to his own quiet oblivion so fast.

“Even if she had decided to invade of her own prerogative – which is a _big_ if, considering that she had far greater political skill than I did, and even I can say that doing so would have accomplished nothing in the long run – then she would have devastated the castle and the Court, but she would not have touched the rest of the kingdom. At most, if it was unavoidable, she would have done her absolute best to minimize the damage as much as possible. She would never allow such rampant and arbitrary devastation – forget attacking the people directly.”

“She was gone for over a year,” Borson said. “Who knows what could have happened to her-”

“What if Morgause happened to her? In more ways than we ever imagined before?”

“You cannot seriously be thinking of just pardoning that witch if she is captured-”

“That _witch_ is my sister,” Arthur said sharply.

“We’ve been over this with Gaius, already,” Dunham said. “Regardless of the kidnapping, she was born with kind of power she had demonstrated.”

“That just means that she had magic even when she was Camelot’s most beloved High Lady,” Arthur said.

“You sound like you are endorsing the presence of magic,” Geoffrey said.

He spoke softly, but in the echoes of the contemplative hall, no one missed a word. Slowly, the eyes of his councilmen narrowed in speculation.

Arthur had to speak, and he could make no mistakes with his next few words.

And he could practically feel Merlin vibrating with tension right behind him. Arthur didn’t even have to turn around to know just what kind of white-knuckled grip Merlin had on the wine pitcher.

“My father was a wise king,” Arthur said finally. “But even the wisest of men can have their moments of foolishness. And when one is a king, a single moment of foolishness can have devastating consequences for years to come. My mother’s death and the betrayal of a sorcerer broke his heart, and for decades, the citizens of Camelot paid the price.”

“…sire…” Agravaine said, eyes wide and face pale.

Why was _he_ so afraid of this? Shouldn’t he be happy, for Morgana’s sake?

Or was he even less on Arthur’s side than he’d initially thought?

“He had children drowned,” Arthur continued, sparing barely a glance for his uncle. “And I know this because I was a child myself when I started doing the same.” He only barely resisted flinching at the memories. “He had people killed for magic, regardless of their intention, their involvement, or even their knowledge of whether they were in the presence of magic or not.” Guinevere’s father alone was proof of that. “I cannot, in good conscience, execute people for something they were born with, if they have done no ill otherwise. And I am well aware such a stance has ramifications for all other forms of magic.”

Everyone was riveted on him, and he could see the councilors mentally penning their messages to lords and vassals, families and allies, about Arthur’s new stance.

Even the guards, instead of standing at blind attention, were listening to him, and he knew that by the end of the day, the entire castle would be saturated with his words.

He wondered if Merlin would finally say something to him tonight.

“For years, this court has scraped by through magical attacks that others brush off due to the presence of court sorcerers. We only barely managed, largely through sheer luck. If Morgana’s persistent attack on this court over the last few months is anything to go by – if the devastation that this single sorceress can do is any indication – then our luck is running out. Already, we have survived by the miraculous intervention of other sorcerers whose agendas and interests temporarily aligned with our own, or who could be bribed or coerced into assisting us. We are getting desperate.”

He swallowed, but resisted the urge to take up his drink again. “When we go to war with another kingdom, we fight swords with swords, horses with horses, and men with men. A physician battles illness with herbs, not a plow – and a farmer battles famine with a plow, not swords. If we are to defend ourselves against magic, we cannot rely on luck, men, and iron-forged weapons for much longer.”

There was stunned silence throughout the council hall.

“Sire,” Geoffrey said. “Are you saying-” He paused, took a deep breath, and started again. “Should I begin to gather your father’s edicts on magic…and research the methods of changing them?”

_Now I’m only going to ask you one more time – did you feel the spirits of the shrine with your own magic?_

“Yes.”

~*~

Two days later, Arthur watched as the procession from Nemeth trotted into the courtyard. Princess Mithian immediately stood out. Clad in a wonderful pale dress that could have rivalled some of Morgana’s best and with regal jewelry to match a lovely face, had to admit she was a beautiful woman.

Between Arthur and Mithian’s looks, their heirs would have been-

_No_.

He put on his most formal smile and stepped forward to help her down from her horse as the procession pulled into a well-disciplined line. As he took her hand, he got the feeling that, despite his message, even she was probably expecting a marriage deal.

“Welcome to Camelot, Princess Mithian,” Arthur said. “I hope you enjoy your stay and that our negotiations go well.”

“I am glad to be here, Your Majesty,” she said sincerely, landing nimbly from the horse. Her hand pressed against his chest as she landed on nimble feet. “And I hope for good tidings in our negotiations, as well.”

…she was seeking a marriage deal.

Damnit.

~*~

Even knowing how bad of an idea it was, Arthur couldn’t help the few extra goblets of wine he had during the feast. In his defense, he was seated right beside Princess Mithian, with Agravaine constantly giving him pointed looks and the un-ignorable presence of Merlin behind him, looking at him with disapproval every time he refilled the goblet at Arthur’s behest.

Arthur didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that Merlin never actually _said_ anything.

As Merlin poured the wine for Arthur’s third refill, he could practically see Merlin thinking _the night is too young for this_ , floating somewhere between Merlin’s sharply downcast eyes and his white-knuckled grip on the pitcher which was not nearly as heavy as it should be for this point in the festivities.

“You have prepared a wonderful feast, Your Majesty,” he heard from beside him, and turned to see that Mithian’s own dining partners on her other side, a pair of knights from Nemeth, had gotten up to dance – as had Agravaine and Lord Dunham beside him.

They were effectively alone at the head table.

“Only the best for such honored guests,” Arthur said congenially. “Best to set a good mood for the negotiations tomorrow.”

He immediately realized his own blunder, bringing it up so bluntly like it. Damn wine.

(Merlin was probably thinking something along the lines of _I told you so_ , but Arthur didn’t want to look at Merlin, to try to read his body and face and eyes, to see if he was right.)

“Hmm,” Mithian hummed contemplatively. “Tomorrow’s negotiations for the land…and whatever you may wish for it.”

Arthur turned in his seat to face her. “Look. Princess Mithian-”

“I think by now,” Mithian said, smoothly interrupting him. “There is really no point in pretending over what I am actually planning on offering for the territory.”

Arthur pursed his lips for a moment, and forced himself to set his goblet down.

“Marriage,” he said as neutrally as he could manage. She nodded, and he sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve heard-”

“That you’re marrying a serving girl?” she said. Arthur counted his blessings that she didn’t make ‘serving girl’ sound like an insult as so many nobles from outside of Camelot were wont to do, and nodded.

“Given the kinds of threats Camelot faces, as well as the upcoming changes to be expected, I need a good ruler at my side – not a good heir-mother or addition to my dynasty’s bloodline.”

He shifted to face forward again, hoping that the matter would be settled, now.

“I would make a fine ruler,” Mithian said, because the world was just working against him, lately. “Especially if you are looking for someone to manage the kingdom at home whilst you play warlord and manage the kingdom abroad.”

He jerked and only barely managed to keep his entire body from whirling in his seat. Instead, he turned his head towards her again as casually as he could.

“What,” he asked, channeling the cold rage that used to be Morgana’s domain instead of his own hot temper that Morgana had now, “are you implying?”

She had the good grace to recognize her faux pas, but she didn’t express any shame over it – merely tucked her chin up as she defended herself.

“Only that you have highly praised the woman Guinevere’s management of the castle and other domestic matters when upholding her leadership skills. And that you have an infamous reputation for handling problems of the kingdom yourself as much as you can, getting out of the confines of the city and the castle…that you don’t just have war skills, but are a true warrior.”

She lifted her own goblet and took a sip of the wine, before smiling at him over the edge of it. “You are a warrior first and foremost, Arthur, and that is admirable. But it also means you _need_ someone who can rule domestically to compensate for it. You have turned to your own castellan for this, but I am offering you myself.”

“Offering yourself?” Arthur echoed a little dumbly, not sure what to do with that.

“As a queen,” Mithian said with a firm nod. “I am well-taught in House management, so any skills of a castellan that I need and lack, I will learn quickly. And unlike a commoner-come-lady, I have a strong grasp of the Court that is borne from deep within my blood, and will make for the excellent stateswoman you need for a strong reign.” She paused, taking another sip of wine. “And all of this comes before my value as the first daughter of Nemeth, and as an heir-mother. Our children could unite not only our two kingdoms alone but many of the lands in-between, with our balance of heritage.”

Damn it all to high hell and back.

Just once, couldn’t things go in the way that was easiest for him?

He supposed the answer was no, though, which was why he already had an answer for her. He may not have the kind of foresight most valued of the wise kings of old, but he at least had more than his father, and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

“I am sure you are a very capable ruler,” Arthur said. “But it is also a matter of trust. Given…given my family history, it is difficult to know who to trust, when, what their loyalties are, all of this. And I am sorry, but I cannot trust you – if I could not trust my own sister, then who can I trust?”

Mithian looked sad at that, and Arthur wondered if it was just because of his firm rejection of her offer, or if she was thinking about her own brothers.

As bad as he felt about it, he hoped it was the latter.

“Guinevere…she has been through so many of the struggles and so much of the pain as I have,” he said. “She is someone I can trust not because of my own faith, but because of our shared memory.”

“But even she can betray you,” Mithian pointed out. “At least with me, you would know more firmly the kind of background I come from, who and what I care about, what my loyalties are. You will never have to guess.”

Arthur hated himself, that moment, for how his entire body seemed to loosen up to that.

Because no matter how cold and heartless that was…it also sounded like relief.

“…I would like to know where I stand with the people around me,” Arthur admitted, while carefully not looking at Merlin.

Mithian smiled. “I can see why you would want to marry the lady Guinevere, Arthur. But I also think I would make for a far better queen – and I will endeavor to make you see things my way.”

“I’m sure you will,” Arthur said. He turned back to face the center of the floor again. “And I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

“No, you don’t,” Mithian said, and whatever else he thought about her, Arthur had to admire a woman who was willing to be so blunt and honest.

It was so rare for people of their station.

“But I will continue speaking, anyway,” Mithian added.

“And I will keep an open mind,” Arthur said. He knew that _she_ knew it was just a brush-off, but thankfully, she accepted it nonetheless.

Soon, her two men came back from the dance floor, speaking highly of the ladies of Camelot as they delved into their meals once more, and Arthur and Mithian spoke no more of the matter.

~*~

He was a few steps short of crying in relief by the time enough of the feast had gone by that he could retire to his chambers without incident or offense.

He bid Mithian and her men a formal goodnight, and carefully didn’t brush his shoulders with Merlin as they headed towards the doors.

“Bring the wine,” Arthur said, and he could see Merlin sigh in exasperation as he nodded, following on Arthur’s heels like he always did when in formal occasions.

Unlike years prior, though, he stayed at Arthur’s heels even once they were moving through the quiet, private corridors above. It took a ridiculous amount of self-control to keep from looking over, constantly expecting Merlin by his side instead of behind him.

But he managed it, all the way to his chambers. There, his own preferred goblet from lunch today was waiting, empty, and with a vague flick of Arthur’s wrist gesturing at it, Merlin poured him some wine, setting the pitcher down before heading towards the wardrobe as Arthur started tugging at the strings of his formal cloak.

He hated Court-wear, in part because of how _difficult_ it was to take off on its own.

But take it off he managed, and Merlin set it in the basket hidden behind the chest in the corner for the laundry to collect tomorrow. He set about stoking the fire and lighting the candles by the table as Arthur sat before all the parchments from lunch – this time, estate records rather than river reports.

If nothing valuable could be gained from trading Gedref away, maybe he could hold onto it instead in exchange for getting rid of a few headaches of his own.

He didn’t actually move, though, until Merlin was done fussing over the candles, and instead waited until Merlin went to turn down the bed before reaching towards the haphazard pile of parchments.

He had just organized them into a reasonable line of piles when he heard a quiet voice from the middle of his chambers ask, “You’re not actually thinking of accepting, are you?”

Arthur froze for a moment, half-convinced he had imagined that.

Despite how little time it had been since Merlin’s little revelation – dear god, was it really less than two weeks ago? – it truly felt like a lifetime since they were close enough for Merlin to take such liberties even within the privacy of Arthur’s chambers.

He turned to look at Merlin, who was worrying the corner of Arthur’s blanket through nervous hands as he looked at Arthur.

“A marriage to Princess Mithian,” Merlin clarified.

Arthur took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair.

“A political marriage is one with no heart,” Arthur said. “No heart…no heartbreak.”

“You can’t be serious,” Merlin burst out, but Arthur had already turned away, his attention going back to the lists of struggling and free estates.

He stared blankly for a moment, waiting for more protests.

Then he viciously suppressed his stupid disappointment when none came.

Instead, he pulled a blank parchment to him and quietly started to list the royal estates with no clear ownership disputes, ones that could be collated and traded to Nemeth for the sake of holding onto Gedref if necessary.

Around him, Merlin puttered about, and Arthur couldn’t tell if it was the comfortable silence of old, or the new silence of tension and lies, or something in between.

Or maybe it was just ‘both’ and nothing more complicated than that.

He finished his list and poured the last of the pitcher into the goblet. He was just organizing his notes when he felt the subtle shift in the silence that meant Merlin was done for the night. He looked up to see Merlin doing some organizing of his own, stacking up the pieces of armor and the chainmail into the most logistically convenient lump to carry it in.

Arthur wondered why he bothered.

He watched as Merlin pulled it all together with the armor’s own buckles and heaved it up, turning and moving towards the door.

Just before it, he stopped like he always did to ask, “Anything else, sire?”

That _sire_ had never sounded so consistently proper as it had for the last two weeks, and Arthur thought he might be sick if he had to deal with it for much longer.

It had been two weeks since he’d heard Merlin say his name.

“No,” Arthur said coolly. “Bring me my mail and armor by tomorrow evening – I want everything to be ready for the Hunt by then, so the morning can go as smoothly as possible.”

“Of course,” Merlin said, bowing his head. It wasn’t a nod, it was a tiny bow, there was a difference in there that Arthur had never appreciated until now. “I’ll clean it first thing in the morning.”

Somewhere between the _sire_ and the bow-that-was-not-a-nod, Arthur felt the last of his patience snap, and before he could stop himself he asked snidely, “Are you going to clean it with magic?”

Merlin went pale, but he didn’t hunch in on himself like Arthur would have expected given the last few weeks. Instead, he lifted his entire head up in defiance.

“I am going to clean them the way I always have,” Merlin said.

“And how is that?” Arthur said, open battle in his very voice as he leaned forward in his seat.

“…I get them clean,” Merlin said obliquely. “Given that the end result is a perfectly serviceable and clean set of mail-”

“Enough!”

Merlin jumped at Arthur’s outburst.

“I have had enough of this,” Arthur snapped, leaning forward and slamming his hands down on the table. “Your silence is getting to be worse than your lies, and I am getting sick of it!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” Merlin demanded. “Because silence seems to be all you are willing to listen to, now!”

“I want the truth!” Arthur snapped, waving his hands and slamming one right into the last goblet of wine.

Arthur spared a passing thought mourning the loss of the wine.

Passing, because he was still turning to look at it when it simply…froze.

He felt cold despite the large fire and warm night as he stared at the goblet hovering in midair, at the wine floating in a streak expelled from it, an aberration to the laws of nature just off the edge of his table.

Even as he watched, it was like time itself went backwards as the wine flew back into the goblet, seeming to push it through the air and back onto the table. There it seemed to tilt in a circle once, twice, and finally settled down – not a drop of wine lost.

Arthur turned, and his breath caught in his throat at the gold swirling in Merlin’s eyes. Merlin, for his part, did nothing to hide it, looking directly at Arthur in open challenge, the magic in his gaze asking the ‘ _so what now?’_ that that he didn’t voice out loud.

As he watched, the gold faded away, like dust being blown off an old book and disappearing into the ether.

And like that dust, he knew that just because he could no longer see it didn’t mean it wasn’t still there.

Merlin swallowed, and his eyes flashed gold again as the door behind him unlocked and opened of its own accord.

“I’ll clean the armor like I always do,” Merlin said quietly. “You’ve been fine with it for the last several years, so don’t start complaining about it now.”

Before Arthur could snap at him for trying to order around a king, Merlin had already slipped through the door, and the last thing Arthur saw was another flash of golden eyes as Merlin turned away, the door sliding shut behind him with neither of them laying a hand on it.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, leaning over his table and staring at the door, but he felt ancient when he finally moved, standing upright again and turned to look at the goblet and the empty pitcher.

There was no denying that this wine was one touched by magic.

But there was also no denying how hard getting to sleep would be, so with a lowly murmured _damn it all to high hell_ , he picked up the goblet and drained it in one go before he could change his mind.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had kind of a crappy day. Job rejection, internship rejection, and lost my spot at a conference I was looking forward to, all in one morning. So, I would really love to hear from you guys - including any thoughts on areas where I can improve my writing, or anything you like and would like to see more of. When I say "concrit is ♥", I mean it. I want this fic to be as good for you guys to read as it is for me to write. :)
> 
> _**Preview of Ch. 3:** _
> 
> _“Yet, you continue to turn down my valuable marriage deal, just for a former serving girl,” Mithian said. “And out of everything I have said and done to irritate you, it’s offering your manservant a job in my court that gets you to confront me outright.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it's either this or studying for my midterm.

The next morning, Arthur probably got the shock of his life from George of all people.

Right after Merlin left to commence his usual duties, Arthur could see George pause in his work. Arthur spent a few moments merely sitting on his bed, watching curiously as George gripped the back of his chair, clearly trying to work himself up to something.

Arthur himself had barely swung his legs over the edge of the bed when George turned to him and said, “Please forgive me, sire, but what is _wrong_ with…everyone? Merlin?”

George was still gripping the chair, and while his face still held his permanent professional concern, his white knuckles betrayed just nervous he was.

Platitudes aside, this was an egregious breach of a servant’s conduct, especially for George. It was an honest struggle for Arthur to not gape in surprise.

“Why do you ask?” Arthur asked instead, leaning forward over his knees.

George pursed his lips. “Merlin is…very subdued. Disconcertingly so.”

“And you’re concerned for him? Just him?”

“I think that by being concerned for him, I am concerned for everyone,” George said, then cringing back as he realized just how forward he was being.

Arthur smiled.

“You’re right to be concerned,” Arthur said. “But unfortunately, while I will say something is wrong, I cannot say what that actually is.”

“Will it get better?” George asked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Merlin’s doing and behaving exactly as you had been wishing he would for months. What’s bringing all this on?”

“…as I said, sire, it’s disconcerting,” George said, taking a deep breath.

Huffing humorlessly, Arthur stood up and went towards his changing screen, saying, “Good to know he has someone watching out for him. I appreciate that.”

Behind the screen, his shirt and day-breeches were waiting. Arthur tugged off his sleep shift and pulled on his shirt, calling over the screen, “If someone lied to you, but in order to protect you…what would you do?”

“I’m a servant in a royal household, sire,” George called back, and Arthur heard the faint rustling of his bed-linens being collected for washing. “Everyone lies, sire, and my job is to accept those lies.”

Arthur actually paused. “Is your job really that…” He didn’t even know what word to use.

“My priority, sire, is to keep this castle functioning and to complete my duties with as little fuss as possible,” George said. “Most of the time, the lies do not disrupt my duties.”

“And if they did?” Arthur tried, tugging off his sleeping bottoms.

“Then I try to make sure they do not lie again,” George said. There was a pause in the rustling of the linens, and Arthur pulled on his breeches.

“And for the lies they have already told?” Arthur asked. “What – how do you…punish them? Make them pay for lying to you?”

“The lies they have told are usually only important in how much they will lie from that point onwards, sire,” George called out. “We all have our reasons for lying. Not always _good_ reasons, but reasons. The best way to prevent more lying is simply to get rid of those reasons.”

Arthur looked down at the bowl of washing water. “So you would just let them get away with it?” he asked curiously. The idea ran counter to everything Uther had ever taught him in his life.

“If I could expect it to not happen again, yes,” George said. “As I said, sire – my duty is to make sure this castle runs with as little disruption as possible from the inside, because we get enough already from everyone else outside.”

Splashing his face, Arthur chuckled as George added, “But the lies people tell me are usually in relation to chores, sire – I suspect the ones you hear are very, very different.”

“You’d be surprised,” Arthur said, then stepped out from behind the screen, only to jump back at seeing George _right there_ , holding out his coat.

“Sorry!” George blurted out. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, immediately corralling his body and taking the coat. When George tried to help him, Arthur brushed him off with a carefully congenial smile.

Disturbing as it was, Arthur found it far too strange for anyone other than Merlin to help him put on his clothing. At most, Guinevere fixed his clothing when it got mussed throughout the day, but even then…

“You are much stealthier than I would have thought possible of you, George,” Arthur said as he smoothed down the front of his coat.

“I apologize,” George began, walking back towards the table with pointed steps as Arthur pulled his clothes on.

“Don’t be sorry,” Arthur said. “Maybe you should come to the next hunt. You’ll be more useful than Merlin.”

“I have never been on a true hunt, sire,” George said doubtfully.

“You’re stealthier than Merlin is.” Arthur paused. “Well, than he usually chooses to be, anyway. I’m fairly certain he is capable of true stealth.”

“As he should be, sire,” George said. “He is a servant in a royal household – reasonable stealth is important to staying as out of sight as possible while still doing our work well.”

Arthur looked at him in surprise. “Really? I’ve never seen you be so quiet, before.”

George smiled sheepishly. “You…don’t seem to appreciate it, sire, so I stopped.”

“You dropped a royal protocol to cater to my preferences?” Arthur asked in surprise.

George froze, looking up at Arthur from lowered eyes. “…yes.”

Arthur smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and tried not to shudder at how such a simple statement made George relax so much. “I know how important protocol is to you.”

George smiled again. “Our most important job is to keep this castle and this household running smoothly, sire – and keep you and our other leaders as comfortable as possible to be able to devote the best of your attention to the care of the kingdom.”

“You make service sound selfish,” Arthur said, amused.

“In a way, it is,” George said. “By taking care of you we take care of ourselves. That is how everyone operates…a family, a castle, a kingdom – all of them work by people taking care of each other to take care of themselves. Sire.”

Arthur wondered whether or not to be comforted or disturbed by _George_ of all people forgetting the title and needing to tack it on at the end.

He wanted to tell George that. He wanted to tell _somebody_ that Merlin was a terrible influence on everyone, that his new and most protocol-happy servant was needing to tack on forgotten titles and Arthur liked this new development, and he wanted to tell somebody how much he hated that the cost of George getting a personality around Arthur was Merlin losing his.

But he no longer had anyone to tell – George would be concerned about the king trying to make friends with him, and everyone else would be concerned about Arthur’s mental stability.

Well, more than they already were.

As such, Arthur didn’t say a word about this – either to George, or to the pair of knights that came into his chambers as he was winding down breakfast.

Instead, Arthur frowned, watching two of his knights come into his chambers. Leon looked stiff and uncomfortable, while Elyan looked…almost _angry_. What?

“Thank you, George,” Arthur said, nodding his head in clear dismissal. The man bowed and quickly left, easing back to into proper servant behavior like it was loose chainmail. 

He supposed everyone had their own kind of armor.

The door had barely shut before Elyan burst out, “Are you seriously considering marrying Mithian?!”

Arthur sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I take it Merlin spoke to you?”

“Yes,” Leon said, drawing out that one word. “But I wasn’t quite ready to take his word for it, so we came here.”

“I may have misled him a bit,” Arthur admitted. “I still intend to marry Guinevere.”

Elyan relaxed in relief, while Leon narrowed his eyes.

“Were you testing Merlin, sire?” he asked.

“No…I was just in a mood and took it out on him.” He paused, taking in Leon’s tension. “Outside of his most obvious agenda, Merlin is not a liar. I don’t think you need to be _that_ distrusting of his every word.”

“Somebody has to be,” Leon muttered, while Elyan asked, “Why did you mislead him? Besides that ‘mood’?”

Arthur gestured for them to sit at the other chairs of the table. As they took their seats, he said, “I was merely musing on the inherent safety of such a marriage.”

“Inherent safety?” Leon asked dubiously.

Arthur smiled mirthlessly. “No heart, no heartbreak.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Leon asked.

Elyan snorted, as Arthur shook his head.

“I’d always wanted a marriage to someone I cared about,” Arthur said. “Even back when Morgana and I thought we could pull one off together…even if we saw each other as practically siblings at that point – oh, if only we’d known – our hypothetical marriage had been as much about us caring for each other as the fact we knew we would make a devastatingly good pair.”

He took a pointedly deep breath, clearing out his lungs and his mind and his heart all in one go.

“Childhood relics,” Arthur summarized wistfully. “Plenty of that going around. Or maybe not enough.”

“Definitely not enough in my case,” Elyan said, leaning back in his chair. “I was looking for one the other week and couldn’t find it.” At Leon’s curious glance, he added, “It was Gwen’s first… _attempt_ at a knife. I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Attempt?” Arthur asked curiously, always happy to have another piece of her past.

“Yes,” Elyan said. “Or at least I think it was a knife she was trying to make.”

“I thought that was her specialty?” Leon said. “She’s better at making weapons, you’re better at repairing them…?”

“But we had to start somewhere, didn’t we?” Elyan said. “Anyway, I found the first buckle I made, and…I guess I was surprised that my father had kept it even after our falling out. I thought he would have kept Gwen’s first forgework as well, but apparently not.”

Arthur nodded in sympathy, before frowning at a thought. “Why did you call it an ‘attempt’?”

Elyan laughed. “Because the thing was so bad, it hardly looked like a knife at all! The hilt was so brittle that half of it was chipped off by the time she was done, and the blade so warped, it wouldn’t fit in the widest sheathe we had.”

Leon laughed at that mental image, and Elyan continued to elaborate the description of a young Guinevere trying her hand at metalsmithing on her own for the first time. Arthur looked down at the table, trying to figure out why that description sounded so… _familiar_.

“Elyan,” Arthur said, bringing his flat hand up from the table. He curled his fingertips forward and jutted his knuckles out, twisting the slope of his palm. “Was the blade a bit like this?”

The knight blinked in surprise. “Yes, actually – how did you know?”

Arthur dropped his hand back to the table.

“I think I know where it is,” Arthur said.

At Elyan’s expression, Arthur gestured for them to get up as he fetched a key-ring from the bottom of his wardrobe.

“Those are not your usual keys,” Leon observed neutrally as he and Elyan followed Arthur out the door and down the hall towards the main corridor.

But instead of turning left to access the staircase down to the rest of the castle, he turned right.

“Where are we going?” Elyan asked. “And what does this have to do with Gwen’s first knife?”

Arthur opened his mouth to answer and said, “You’ll see,” instead.

He heard a sharp breath from Leon when they passed the entrance to the hallway that had led to Uther’s chambers. There was only one other room past this point that had been used in the last two decades.

It took everything in Arthur not to flinch as he took the first step up the small, twirling staircase, or when he heard Leon behind him quietly explain to Elyan, “These were the Lady Morgana’s chambers.”

Elyan froze on the staircase, but with a gesture from Arthur, they followed him up the stairs, waiting a few steps down as Arthur searched for the right key and opened the door.

Stepping into her rooms reminded Arthur eerily of the lamia’s castle. Everything was covered in burlap sheets and dust, thin enough that merely walking did not cause clouds of disturbance but thick enough that shutting the door behind them did.

The quiet thud was an unspoken accusation in the dust-muffled silence, but Arthur merely turned on his heel and kept going, striding across the room to a pair of wardrobes, sorting through the keys on the ring to find the right key to open the one on the left. Behind him, Elyan and Leon made their own, slower way across the rooms, stopping and waiting a few paces away.

Arthur held the right key, and for a moment he just stared at the doors to the wardrobe.

“Before my father had these rooms sealed, I…I went through them, looked through everything,” he said as he fitted the key into the lock.

“What were you looking for?” Elyan asked.

Arthur paused mid-turn of the key.

“…an explanation, I think,” he said, turning the key the rest of the way. “Something to make sense of what she did.”

He started to pull the doors open, slowly so as to disturb as little dust as possible.

“Did you find anything?” Leon asked.

“Just more questions,” Arthur said, pushing the doors wide open.

Inside were a pile of small chests, some boxes, a rack of hairbrushes, and folded linens. Just the many things that had been laying around her rooms by the time they’d defeated her and Morgause.

He extracted a square-ish chest from near the bottom, blowing the dust off the floral patterns carved into the side. He held it gingerly as he took it to the table and set it down, the thud of the heavy wood muffled by the burlap sheet.

Finding the right key again, it took several breaths for him to muster up the will to actually open the chest.

He and Morgana, both, had always valued their privacy, and even now, doing this felt like he was violating something sacred between them.

But she’d violated his trust with her treason, so he still moved onwards, opening what had once been her most valued chest of belongings – even if most would never have realized as much, given what was inside of it. She had other chests to protect her gems and precious stones, and jewelry that cost more than some nobles' entire inheritances.

This chest was for the things Morgana actually cared about, things that once would have devastated her to lose.

A small, weatherworn journal, one which Arthur knew contained all her terrible attempts at poetry and lady-like prose. Most of them either were never completed, or descended into very _un_ lady-like limericks that belonged more to a tavern than a royal court. There were stones and twigs, most of which he knew the stories behind and some of which he didn’t. There was a truly atrocious woodcarving from her first suitor, a distant cousin of Leon’s who’d died in her invasion. A torn, bloodied handkerchief that she hadn’t let out of her sight for nearly a month after Gorlois’s death.

And pushed off to the side of the box was a warped, chipped knife.

Elyan gasped, and started to reach for it, stopping only at Arthur’s twitch and pulling his hand back as Arthur reached into the box, himself.

He pulled it out and handed it to Elyan, who took it with shaking hands.

“…I take it that’s the knife you were talking about?” Leon asked quietly, like he was afraid to wake some ghost of Morgana’s presence if he spoke too loudly. Elyan nodded silently, turning it around in his misty gaze. “But why did Lady Morgana have it?”

“Like I said,” Arthur answered dryly. “I only ever found more questions in here.” He paused. “Though this, at least, is one answer.”

“Answer to what?” Elyan asked hoarsely as he handed the knife back to Arthur, shutting his eyes and turning away from the knife. Arthur and Leon dutifully pretended he wasn’t trying to stop tears. With a deep breath, Elyan stood straight and faced them head on again.

Arthur shrugged as he put the knife back in the box and closed the lid. “I don’t know.”

~*~

Despite how random Arthur’s stroll with Mithian seemed, it was very carefully calculated. He’d timed it just right to discuss trading matters, without giving them enough time for Mithian to try talking about anything else. Between the sun meandering across the sky, the breeze brushing over their cheeks, and the occasional blooming flowers against the verdant forest, it was a horrifically wonderful day for a walk in the woods.

The meadow he’d chosen was also carefully calculated. It was on a raised knoll that gave them an excellent view of the citadel, but it was low enough that they were effectively in public view. The grass grew long enough to be soft, but not so long as to hide anything – enemy or otherwise. 

Unfortunately, the entire purpose of this expedition was _not_ well calculated. 

This picnic was a bad idea. Even when taking Merlin with them, it was sending all the wrong messages and Arthur knew it.

But he wanted some fresh air, and some time away from the castle and all its Byzantine politics. He could admit he was a little desperate.

He could also admit that maybe he should have chosen someone else to take along to act as a witness of his and Mithian’s propriety.

“No,” Arthur said, spontaneously ‘changing his mind’ halfway through Merlin setting everything down. “How about over there?”

Merlin scowled up at him, apparently, perfectly aware of what Arthur was doing. He hefted everything up to his shoulders again.

“Wait,” Arthur said, smirking.

“Arthur!” Mithian said with a light laugh. “Just pick a spot and let us settle down. I would like to eat sometime today.”

Well, if the lady asked for it…

“Right here,” Arthur declared, pointing to the spot he’d decided on the moment they set foot on the outcropping and hadn’t let Merlin anywhere near.

Merlin was still scowling when Arthur didn’t say a word as he finished laying everything out. He didn’t even hide his glower when he took his own bread and cheese and sat a little ways away, close enough to see them but not close enough to hear them.

Unless he used magic, which now that Arthur thought about it, was entirely possible.

“Camelot is so lovely this time of year,” Mithian commented halfway into their meal. It was a quiet lunch, but not awkwardly so. “It’s going to be another month or two before Nemeth blooms like this.”

“We are…very fortunate, for such fertile land,” Arthur said. And they were – the land was why people kept living here even through all the magical attacks.

(And he could guess that the concentration of magic in Camelot was part of the reason why the land was so fertile, but he was never going to say anything about it out loud).

“Such beautiful forests, too,” Mithian said. “I hear the preparations for the Hunt of Ostara are underway?”

“Yes,” Arthur promised. “I assure you, the hunt will not disrupt the negotiations, nor should it take too much time away from them.”

“Arthur…” Mithian sighed, setting a slice of ham back on the plate. “I wasn’t worried about that.” She paused. “Actually, I was hoping to come along.”

He looked at her in surprise, and then did a double-take at an all-too-familiar glint in her eyes.

“I love hunting,” she said.

He was starting to hate just how perfect she seemed.

“Then hunt you shall,” Arthur said. “It’s one of the best hunts of the year. It will give you plenty of stories to tell when you return to Nemeth.”

Her smile neither dimmed nor froze at his casual reminder that her presence in Camelot was not permanent. She’d expected it, and was not deterred by it at all.

Damnit.

At least the rest of their meal was quiet, mostly idle chatter about the land and weather, with some murmured agreements over the more finicky details of the trade negotiations.

Despite the politics, it was relatively peaceful. He let his guard down – as much as he was capable of around other people, though he could admit to himself that it wasn’t much – and he…well, he was a king. He couldn’t exactly relax, but he could approximate it well enough, and Arthur would take what he could get.

It was a good day, all-told.

(That probably should have been his first clue that it wasn’t going to last.)

~*~

Arthur was silently trudging down an empty corridor when he heard, “What’s it like, working for Arthur?”

At the sound of Mithian’s query, he stopped and plastered himself against the stone wall just before the corner, hating how accustomed he was to eavesdropping.

He’d sent Merlin ahead of him when he got waylaid by his consul about the state of the river between Camelot and Nemeth. Merlin was supposed to give Mithian the list of others attending tomorrow’s Hunt of Ostara, then go take care of his laundry.

Apparently, Mithian had other ideas.

“Uh…good?” Merlin said.

He couldn’t see them, but he could still feel Mithian’s incredulity from all the way around the corner, and he could just imagine her expression.

“Well, _normally_ it’s good,” Merlin corrected himself. “Right now, though, is…I, uh…I messed up, and, uh, he’s still…he’s still mad about it.”

“What could you have possibly ‘messed up’ on that would lead to this kind of treatment from him?” she asked. “From what I have heard, King Arthur seems to consider you a good friend and trusted confidante. You’ve done some outlandish things with little to no recourse or consequence. Some of the stories have made it to the other Courts, including mine.”

“It’s because I am his friend that he is so mad,” Merlin said sadly. “I…cannot explain to you, but I…I did something friends should not do to each other. So he’s mad, and being an ass because he is mad.”

“So why did you do it, whatever it was you did?” she asked. Arthur heard the crinkling of the parchment the details of the hunt were written on, like a nervous princess was fiddling with it.

“…protection,” Merlin said. “I lied, to protect myself, and in a round-about way shield him.”

“So he’s mad at you for protecting you both?” she asked.

Arthur couldn’t tell how much of her tone was confusion and how much was accusation, but he winced anyway at her words.

“No, he’s upset with me for lying to him,” Merlin said. “The fact that I did so to protect him is the reason why he’s _only_ being an ass and not having me executed due to what I lied about.”

“Would he?”

“He could,” Merlin said. “And once upon a time, he might have. Now, well, I’ll take his sulking if it means he doesn’t try to kill me.”

Arthur frowned.

Merlin…he knew Arthur wouldn’t kill him, right?

_Right?_

“I’m told Arthur values your word,” Mithian said.

“He did,” Merlin said. “But if you wanted me to put in a good word for you in your attempts to get his hand in marriage-”

“I didn’t want you to put in a good word for me,” Mithian said. “Though if you did, I would certainly appreciate it. I just wanted to get you to know you, being so close to Arthur as I’ve heard.” She paused. “I’m told you are an unconventional but good and loyal servant, and are always able to help him despite working for the physician as well.” She paused. “Quite frankly, if Arthur ever decides to let you go, my father might just take you into the Court of Nemeth.”

Like hell!

Arthur clenched his fists at the thought of Merlin running off to some other kingdom away from Arthur, before realizing how ridiculous it was.

“I don’t…I hope he doesn’t…Camelot is my home,” Merlin said finally.

“I understand,” Mithian said. “Everyone wants to stay in their home. But should you ever find yourself needing new employ, come to Nemeth.”

“Er…thank you, Your Highness,” Merlin said. And even as Arthur could hear the awkwardness in Merlin’s voice, he was irrationally focused on the sound of Merlin walking away.

He tried to focus on the fact Merlin was walking _towards_ Arthur’s chambers, but he found he couldn’t. Even after Merlin’s footsteps were long gone, Arthur kept hearing them go further and further away from him and fade into the castle walls.

He swallowed, wrapping his arms around himself and gripping his elbows to keep from punching the wall.

Merlin had every right to leave and go to another kingdom. That didn’t mean Arthur would just _let him_ , though.

…although, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t help but wonder why Merlin had never done so before.

He turned around, ready to leave, when he heard an approaching, “Arthur?”

He froze at Mithian’s voice.

“I know you’re there,” she said.

He should stay hidden. She could easily be pretending to have seen him just to test him, draw him out – it had been a favorite gambit of Morgana’s and one Arthur had often used himself.

But he also had his pride to think about.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out to face her head on. Her lips twisted in a wry smile as she clasped her hands in front of her.

“You know,” Arthur said, dropping his arms and gripping his hands behind his back, under his cloak. “When residing as a guest in someone else’s home, it’s considered rude to poach their staff.”

“I’m not poaching anyone,” Mithian said calmly, crossing her arms. Arthur would admit that her ease in standing up to him added a point in her favor. “I am merely letting your manservant – the one you’ve been mistreating my entire time here – know that he has options available to him.”

And that was that point in her favor gone, like ash in the wind. He fought the urge to clench his fists as he said, “And why were you talking to him in the first place?”

“I wanted to know more about you,” she said. Unfortunately, she seemed to be genuine about that. “No need to act like a jealous husband about that.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Princess Mithian-”

“Please, Arthur, don’t try that with me, not now.” Her grip on the parchment tightened, crinkling it further. She didn’t seem to care.

He had to give her credit. He could see nervousness creeping into her expression as she realized just how bold her words were. But she wasn’t trying to take them back, or back down.

“Try what?” he asked.

“Trying to…to distance yourself,” Mithian said. “You’ve already made it clear how uninterested you are in a marriage deal.”

“And yet, you keep trying,” Arthur said.

Mithian took a deep breath, trying to parse out her words with a little more caution this time.

“It would be good for both our kingdoms,” she began.

“I know,” Arthur said. “But I am already giving up nearly everyone I care about for the good of the kingdom, and if I can keep one person to myself, then I damn well _will_!”

She was taken aback by his snap.

Arthur guaranteed she wasn’t nearly as surprised at his outburst as he was.

“…I apologize,” he said stiffly, starting to shuffle backwards a little. She moved forward, clearly not planning on letting him escape. “You are not the target of my irritability-”

“But I am the cause of at least part of it,” she pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Then her expression grew somber again. “What do you mean…you’re giving up everyone you care for? You seem to have plenty, here, already.”

Arthur took a deep breath, and another. Old lessons from Gaius about how to keep his temper from getting the best of him drifted to his head.

He missed when the most he had to get angry about was Morgana stealing sweetmeats off his plate during formal dinners.

“As you know, a great deal has…happened, in Camelot, recently,” he said. “And unfortunately, a great deal more is going to happen, soon. I am sure you know how many people lie to a king, for benefit and for protection.”

“Of course,” she said, tilting her head in confusion but waiting to see where he was going. “It is a part of the price we pay for our privileges.”

“Then you must know the feeling of…what it’s like to not be sure if you have any friends, real friends,” Arthur said.

He didn’t know her past, but he could guess it – enough to be unsurprised at the understanding spreading across her face as he spoke. She uncrossed her arms, using both hands to hold onto the parchment lightly.

“I know,” she said. “But – it’s obvious your manservant cares for you, at least. And if that…if Guinevere really is waiting for you, then she must care, too.”

“Some days, I’m not even sure about them,” Arthur said.

“Yet, you continue to turn down my valuable marriage deal, just for a former serving girl,” Mithian said. “And out of everything I have said and done to irritate you, it’s offering your manservant a job in my Court that gets you to confront me outright.”

Arthur wondered if she’d known of his eavesdropping the entire time, if that had been the point of her offering Merlin a job at all.

“I have to…I have to hope,” Arthur said. “Because right now, that may very well be the only thing I have left.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “You’ve been treating your manservant awfully the entire time I was here, and he still wants nothing more than to stay at your side! He wasn’t even remotely interested in my offer of a position in my Court.”

“It’s complicated,” he said tersely.

“Arthur, I’ve heard incredible tales of the loyalty-”

“And I’m sure once upon a time, such tales were told about my sister,” Arthur said. “I’m also sure many of the other tales you could reference right now are about people who I know to be treacherous but must put up with for one reason or another.”

“…is this how you live your life?” she asked. “Assuming the worst of everyone?”

“It’s a good way to not die,” Arthur pointed out.

“But is it any way to _live_?” she challenged.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her.

“No,” he said coldly. “But sometimes, ‘living’ is a luxury I cannot afford. All I can do is survive.”

She didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and if she did, Arthur didn’t want to hear it.

He said neutrally, looking pointedly to the parchment in her hands, “Let me know if any of the logistics of tomorrow’s hunt are of any cause for concern.”

With a properly polite nod, he stepped around her and past her, and continued down the hall.

He never heard her footsteps, and he never stopped hearing his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think. Compliments or concrit, I want to hear your thoughts. :)
> 
> Also, I seem to have a bit of a thing for how-I-wish-it-had-gone fics. So if any of you are Teen Wolf fans, come check out my show-style canon rewrite of the second half of Season 2, [Trust the Instinct](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6547852).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of yesterday, I am 23 years old. ~~WTF, I've been writing this series since I was 18. o.O~~

~*~

Arthur should’ve known how the Hunt of Ostara would turn out.

Once upon a time, even the presence of foreign dignitaries would not have staved off the knights’ playfulness. Gwaine and Leon would be trading affectionate insults, Elyan would be ramming his shoulders with a grin into anyone who stood still long enough, and Percival would nick someone’s waterskin or knife and not even try to hide his grin as his chosen victim grew increasingly incensed in their search. Merlin and Guinevere would’ve been chatting amicably as Arthur upheld a façade of respect and gravity whilst dealing with Camelot’s latest guests.

Today, Guinevere was gone. Merlin was silent, as were the knights save the minimum number of words needed to complete their duties. Everyone was the most formal and proper that Arthur had ever seen them, and he _hated_ it.

It was a testament to their demeanor that even the noblemen who regularly despaired of Arthur’s “ramshackle collection of miscreants” seemed disconcerted by their good behavior.

Mithian’s entourage didn’t appear to notice – though the princess herself definitely noticed the tension. Heaven bless the small mercies, though, because once they were in the forests, Arthur, the knights, and Merlin could all spread out and mix-in more with the hunters and servants from Nemeth, easing up the tightly wound non-relations and even bringing some cheer to the affair.

Tension and behavior aside, the hunt was going well – perhaps a little bit too well for Arthur’s tastes.

Once away from the confines of the castle and the pressure of each other’s presences, everyone was almost…cheerful. Even Merlin.

When he was talking to _Mithian_.

Arthur reminded himself that Camelot couldn’t afford a war with Nemeth repeatedly as they traced a set of deer paths through the Western forests.

(He didn’t even bother _not_ glaring at them – merely worked on hiding his glares from everyone else, though given a few questioning looks from Leon, Arthur didn’t think he was as successful as he would have liked.)

He was almost relieved when they lost their current trail. It was all too easy to call for a break for lunch, and if it was a little earlier than he might normally prefer, well, he kept that to himself.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t factored in how the rest would give everyone a chance to meander and chat with each other.

Like a visiting princess and a moronic magical manservant.

It was really hard not to glare when he saw Mithian and Merlin chatting, Merlin pointing northward as he talked excitedly about something.

He hadn’t looked that animated around Arthur in weeks.

His frown sunk into an outright scowl when he saw Gwaine not too far behind them, unobtrusively listening in. When Gwaine saw Arthur, he raised an amused eyebrow.

Arthur glared even more, then stalked over to Hengroen. He spent a few minutes stroking Hengroen’s neck, trying to draw some comfort from him.

“You’re not going to leave me, right?” Arthur asked his horse quietly. Hengroen nickered consolingly – or at least it sounded consoling to Arthur – before going back to nibbling at some plant life in the roots of the tree Arthur had tethered him to.

While lunch was relaxed, it was not _that_ relaxed, so thankfully Merlin went to eat with the other grooms and servants, while Mithian ate with Arthur and both their entourages of nobles. The knights acted as almost a buffer between the two groups.

If Mithian knew how much she was irritating Arthur, she gave no visible indication of such, instead chatting amicably with everyone.

Arthur kept his own responses to her curt and formal. He got wary looks from his own nobles and indignant ones from Mithian’s, but the princess herself just looked more and more amused as the midday meal went on.

Despite the fact that he’d been the one to call for the reprieve, he couldn’t even begin to relax until they were back on the trail.

“Princess Mithian,” he said as they set out, making sure to raise his voice. “As the guest of honor, why don’t you take charge of this portion of the hunt?”

Mithian actually grinned at that. “It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

It was easy to drift away from the front of the procession at that point, especially since Mithian seemed to prefer a more rounded formation, rather than Arthur’s more linear approach. Of course she would.

“Gwaine,” Arthur said quietly as soon as they were close enough – and the both of them were a bit away from the rest of the group.

“Yes?” he said, slowing down his horse’s pace to match Arthur’s.

“What were Mithian and Merlin talking about, earlier?” Arthur asked, keeping his gaze mostly ahead.

“Nothing insidious,” Gwaine began, obligingly not trying to look at Arthur directly head-on. “She was asking about the area, about Camelot. Merlin was answering honestly, but he never gave away anything…important.”

“What _did_ he say?”

“Eh,” Gwaine said with a shrug. “Mostly he talked about what a good harvest Camelot has had, this year, and talked up the land we’re all politely pretending you’re not considering trading away for Gedref. A bit about the forest, how close we are to getting those frankincense smugglers, the myth about that sword in the rock, the drought-flood problem we’ve been-”

“Wait,” Arthur said, glancing sidelong at him. “What sword in a rock?”

“You mean you haven’t seen it?” Gwaine asked in genuine surprise. “Or heard of it?” Arthur shook his head. “There’s this boulder in the northern forest with a sword stuck in it, about halfway from the citadel to Cendred’s kingdom.” Here, Gwaine’s mouth twisted in irony. “Legend has it that only the true king of Albion can pull it out.”

“Legend according to who?” Arthur asked sardonically.

“Hell if I know,” Gwaine said. “Which I’m guessing means it’s been around long enough that no one remembers where the story came from.” He smiled sadly. “Leon, Percival, and me, and a bunch of the new boys ran across it a few months ago when we were on a training run. We all took turns on the damn thing, but even Percival couldn’t get it to so much as budge, let alone pull it out. I hurt my shoulders from trying.”

Arthur snorted. “Serves you right for believing in old fairy tales.”

Inexplicably, Gwaine fell silent at that.

“Gwaine?” Arthur asked curiously, looking out the corner of his eyes again.

“I heard it from some peasants when we were trying to track down the frankincense smugglers,” Gwaine said. “But Mithian heard it in her kingdom…” Gwaine took a deep breath. “From a Druid.”

Arthur tensed, enough that even Hengroen pranced on the spot in second-hand anxiety.

“Magic is legal in Nemeth,” Gwaine added quietly.

“I know,” Arthur murmured. It took two swallows, but he forced himself to choke out the words, “Mithian has offered Merlin a position in her Court should he ever find himself in need of new employ.”

Gwaine’s eyes flew open, round in surprise. “What?!”

“I overheard her offer to him, yesterday,” Arthur said.

For several paces, Gwaine was silent.

“Well,” he said finally. “You haven’t tried to declare war on Nemeth, yet, so he must have declined.”

Arthur’s hands tightened on the reins as he turned his entire upper body to face Gwaine. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Gwaine wasn’t impressed by Arthur’s ire. “You’re the jealous type, Arthur, and rather possessive of those you care about.”

“Merlin’s been lying to me the entire time I’ve known him,” Arthur insisted.

Gwaine hummed dismissively. “But you still care for him. Which means you’ll still be quite possessive.” He smirked. “The only other person you’re _this_ jealous about is Gwen, and since she’s gone, you’re turning all your attention onto him.” Here, Gwaine rolled his eyes. "For god's sake, you get pissy whenever me or the boys speculate too much about knighthoods in other kingdoms."

Arthur didn’t respond right away, instead turning back to face forward.

“Do you think he’ll go?” Arthur asked.

Gwaine snorted incredulously. “No,” he said, looking at Arthur like he was particularly dim. “Of course not. He’s not leaving any sooner than you’re going to send him away.”

Arthur stared ahead between Hengroen’s ears, looking at the road without really seeing it. The silence went on long enough that Gwaine, with a huff, picked up the pace to catch up with Leon and Mithian, who were ahead of the group.

For a moment, Arthur felt irrationally vindicated when Leon pointedly ignored Gwaine, then immediately hated himself for it.

Well, hated himself _more_ , anyway.

He wondered, vaguely, what Guinevere would think if she were here. Whose side would she be on? Would she even take a side at all?

With Gwaine gone, Arthur ended up trying not to stare at the back of Merlin’s head for most of the hunt. The more Arthur thought about it, the more he realized that Merlin _shouldn’t be here_. Nearly anywhere in the world was safer for him than Camelot, especially within the king’s own castle.

So why was he still here?

Quite literally the only thing that kept Arthur from losing himself in his thoughts was the excited shouting from the rest of the hunting party as they finally caught the stag’s trail again.

Despite how much he wanted to continue trying to figure out the puzzle that was his manservant, he shelved his ruminations for later and instead lost himself in the hunt.

It was a vigorous hunt, with Mithian trading off leadership of it halfway through. It was a political gambit that she didn’t even try to hide or shroud in polite tidings, but Arthur accepted it nonetheless.

After felling the stag, Arthur made sure to dedicate the kill to the family of Nemeth, rather than Mithian herself. 

The stag was gargantuan, leaving everyone stuffed and satisfied at the feast the next night. During his toast, Arthur offered to share the antlers, to commemorate their kingdoms’ good relations, with Arthur keeping one in Camelot and Mithian taking the other one home to her father.

Absolutely no one missed the unsubtle reminder that Mithian would be _going_ home, but since the princess herself didn’t comment, neither did anyone else. Instead, Mithian only raised an amused eyebrow as Arthur kept Merlin close to him for the duration of the feast.

Venison was no chicken dinner, Mithian was no castellan-come-warrior, and Nemeth was no…whatever it was that kept Merlin in Camelot.

(If he tried hard enough, he could almost make himself forget that the answer was ‘home’.)

~*~

The next morning, Arthur and Merlin went back to his chambers after a morning reviewing Gedref’s crop history, the king stewing silently as they walked.

Arthur had a plan, a _sound_ and _strategic_ plan, for trying to find out the answers to his latest questions. Really. It was a work in progress, but it was a plan and a definitive course of action.

His plan went out the window the moment the door to his chambers shut behind him and Merlin.

Merlin had barely taken two steps towards the wardrobe when Arthur blurted out, “Why are you still here?”

“…I need to arrange your attire for tonight…?” Merlin asked nervously. “And-”

“No,” Arthur, striding toward the table. “In Camelot.”

Merlin’s face closed off, looking impassive and hardened and like everything he was supposed to be and nothing he actually was.

“You haven’t tried to arrest me, execute me, or exile me yet,” Merlin started.

“No!” Arthur waved his hand in irritation, his chainmail tinkling slightly in the heavy quiet of his chambers. “There are many kingdoms where magic is not persecuted like in Camelot – even one or two where it’s _welcome_. And yet, you came here. You serve here. You serve the _king_ here. Why?”

Merlin stared, stunned.

Despite how much the words scraped out of his throat like broken glass, Arthur asked, “Why haven’t you left me, yet?”

For a few moments, there was no sound save for their breathing as Merlin stared in bewilderment, and Arthur stood rooted to the stone, demanding an answer.

“When I said you will be a great king,” Merlin said finally. “I meant that.”

“In spite of my laws on magic?” Arthur said.

“ _Will be_ ,” Merlin emphasized, standing up a little straighter. Finally, Arthur was getting his _real_ Merlin back. “We all have to start somewhere.”

“Did you?” Arthur asked. It was stupid, his curiosity was pointless and his questions downright reckless, but- “Where did you start?”

Merlin…smiled. “When I first came to Camelot, I was clueless about magic, beyond what I knew from playing with my own since I was a child. Now…there are many in the Old Religion, High Priestesses and Priests and old Druid leaders, who listen to my advice and warnings, even if they don’t actually know it.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to stare at him in bewilderment. “What…how much could you possibly have – wait, how would they not know? And how could you not know…” He shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t even know if you’re telling me the truth. For all I know, you’re just as incompetent with magic as you are everything else.” At Merlin’s indignant face, Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You probably are, in fact.”

“Oi! Do you know how many times I’ve saved your life in the entire time I’ve been working for you?” Merlin demanded.

“No, I don’t,” Arthur said. “Because you never tell me anything!”

“How was I supposed to tell you anything when I wasn’t sure what would finally drive you to kill me?” Merlin snapped, and Arthur just – froze.

Because once upon a time, he would have. If he found out his manservant had been a sorcerer all along, he would have simply sentenced Merlin to death. Then there was a time when the betrayal would have stung so strongly, Arthur would likely have killed Merlin, himself. Then-

Then.

Arthur didn’t know when it happened, exactly. But at some point, there was a time – when Father was still alive – that if Arthur had found out about Merlin’s magic…

The betrayal would have stung as ferociously as it did now – and Arthur likely would have been holding back tears as he did now, and fighting the urge to throttle Merlin the entire time he smuggled his best friend outside of Camelot, so as never to be hurt by the King of Camelot.

Now, Arthur _was_ the King of Camelot, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Without a word, Arthur turned sharply on his heel and fell into his favorite chair, unbuckling his belt and jerking his head for Merlin to approach and help him out of the chainmail.

They worked in silence, Merlin carefully setting the ceremonial chainmail and undershirt on the table, then kneeling down to pull off Arthur’s boots.

Arthur sat there in his breeches, his torso bare to the chilly air. He suppressed his shivering as best as he could while Merlin started a small fire, then went to the wardrobe to start assembling an appropriate outfit for tonight.

“You know,” Arthur said, as Merlin was laying out Arthur’s clothes on the bed. “You still haven’t really answered my question.”

Merlin didn’t even pause in polishing the cloak clasp as he glanced up at Arthur, then looked back down at his work. “What do you mean?”

“You said you think I’ll be a great king, one day,” Arthur began.

“I don’t think it,” Merlin said, because now that the real Merlin was coming back, he was already starting to interrupt Arthur again. “I know it.”

_How?_ Arthur wanted to demand, but he couldn’t get sidetracked again, not just yet.

“Why bother?” he asked, as Merlin finished pressing down on the sleeves of Arthur’s shirt.

Tucking the polishing cloth away in his pocket, Merlin went over to the table – ignoring Arthur’s gaze and question completely – as he started to fold Arthur’s chainmail and gambeson.

“Why not just go somewhere that magic is legal? Why _help me_?” Arthur said. “Why-”

“I learned from my closest friend that just because being friends with someone is hard, doesn’t mean you abandon them,” Merlin said.

Arthur sometimes wondered if Merlin realized just how few people in the world could interrupt a king and get away with it. He also wondered who Merlin was talking about – Will or Lancelot? He supposed there could be others, but as far as he knew, those were the only two (other than Merlin’s actual family) who knew about Merlin’s magic, who kept his secret despite great risk to themselves, and gave their lives to protect him in one way or another.

Asking directly seemed rude, somehow, but Arthur still wanted to know which one – even if, he supposed, it no longer mattered, since they were dead.

Both of them.

“You trust this close friend’s opinion, then?” Arthur asked, trying to distract himself from the realization that both of Merlin’s best friends were dead.

“Of course,” Merlin said, collecting Arthur’s things to be cleaned. “With what I can, when I can.”

Arthur turned his head away, frowning at the fireplace. Did Merlin really lie to _everyone_?

“Are you sure your friend is someone worth listening to?” Arthur asked, trying to find a way to phrase his real question.

“He’s a good man,” Merlin said quietly, smiling in – something. Arthur supposed it was reminiscence, though it looked oddly like amusement from where he was sitting. “The greatest man I ever knew.”

Once upon a time, that would have almost definitely meant Lancelot, but now he could see how Will would have been included in that.

“How do you know?” Arthur said.

Merlin swallowed, looking slightly amused and incredibly sad.

“I think after serving him for over half a decade, I’ve gotten to know him pretty well,” he said.

…what?!

Arthur stared at him, and Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, before saying, “I’ll see you this evening, sire.”

Long after Merlin left, Arthur was still staring at the door, feeling his entire world once again turned upside down.

~*~

“…because there are too many competing bandit gangs in the northwest,” Gwaine said, moving from the other side of the small planning table to the corner just by Arthur. “They would need at _least_ half a dozen mercenaries to defend the frankincense alone, unless the actual smugglers are knights or something. That, on top of the actual smuggler ring itself – too many people, given how fast they seem to move their wares in the past.

“Maybe they do have some knights,” Arthur said. “Disgraced knights from another court, maybe?”

He looked up at Gwaine, whose white shirt nearly glowed in the dim candlelight as the man shook his head at the suggestion. He and Arthur were the only ones still in the planning room, the small council chambers emptied of everyone else for the night.

“I’ve seen the knights from other courts,” Gwaine said, dropping into his seat and pouring himself another goblet of wine. “The best only barely match up to our worst. I meant it would have to be two knights from _here_ , or at least warriors with that much skill. I think we would have heard of it, if two knights with that much skill were sent packing.”

“And since we haven’t…”

“We’re back at either a pair incredibly good warriors coming out of nowhere and leading a smuggling caravan moving with enough agility to get through the Northern forests, or – and I think this is far more likely – a team of mercenaries, and they’re taking another route entirely. I still say it’s the river-”

“Which it can’t be because of the dam-”

“They don’t need to be taking the river the entire way,” Gwaine said – but mostly without heat. He was at least as tired as Arthur, if not even more so.

He’d certainly had more to drink, by now – and even incredibly watered down wine was still wine.

Arthur fell into his own chair by Gwaine, staring at the map and trying to figure out where and how such a large caravan of smugglers could go without detection. The Northern forest was the only place they didn’t have absolute eyes in, but a small caravan would be overrun by bandits, whilst a larger one would have been noticed by now.

_Maybe they’re using magic,_ he thought. Which immediately led to, _maybe Merlin knows._

He tried to focus on the problem, he really did. But today, his little talk with Merlin, the first time they’ve properly talked in weeks…

“Merlin called me a good man, today,” Arthur said quietly.

Gwaine grunted inquisitively, and Arthur looked up to see him confused.

“We were talking, and towards the end, he…he said I was one of the greatest men he ever knew.”

“…and?” Gwaine asked. Arthur just stared at him incredulously.

“What do you mean, ‘and’?” he asked. “ _Me!_ Merlin called _me_ a good man. Everything I’ve done for my father and as king, all that time he didn’t consider me good enough to tell the truth, all the times I-”

Arthur cut off, instead reaching for his own goblet. He took a big gulp and immediately regretting telling the maids to water down their working wine, before remembering that while he was on his second cup, Gwaine was on his fifth.

“Well, yes?” Gwaine said, setting down his own cup on the table. “You are a good man, Princess – most of the time, anyway.”

Arthur glared at the tabletop, sinking even deeper into his seat. “Well, at least I already know your judgment is questionable,” he grumbled, crossing his arms to stop him from hugging himself. “But Merlin? Why on earth would he say that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Gwaine said. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious what he thinks of you, anyway, saying it is just redundant.”

“Obvious,” Arthur said slowly, drawing out the word as he looked back up at Gwaine again. Gwaine nodded, leaning forward towards Arthur so his elbows rested on his knees.

“Being in the service of the royal house of Camelot is the most dangerous place in the world for Merlin to be,” Gwaine said. “And he’s still here. He has a damn good reason for staying, Princess, and that reason is you.”

Arthur swallowed.

“A long while back, I asked you to keep an eye on him,” Arthur began.

“And I have been,” Gwaine said. “A little more…distant about it, since he told us. But I never stopped.”

“Are you _sure_ he won’t leave?” Arthur asked.

Gwaine rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like a lovesick milkmaid, Arthur. Of course I’m sure. The only thing that will make Merlin go away is you _driving_ him away, and seeing as you’re sitting here asking me all this, I feel quite confident in assuring you Merlin will not be leaving Camelot anytime soon.”

“If…” Arthur paused. “If I asked, now, who you would choose-”

“I still say it’s never going to happen,” Gwaine said.

“But you’ll still look after Merlin, right?” Arthur said.

“You’re asking me to look after him,” Gwaine said wryly, crossing his arms and not hiding the amusement on his face. “Do you really think you’ll ever turn against him?”

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Arthur insisted.

Gwaine rolled his eyes again. “Of course I’ll look after him. But I’m fairly certain that would just mean following him as he chases after you. Again.”

“As long as someone is looking out for him,” Arthur said.

Gwaine’s word to protect Merlin was hardly more than a symbolic measure that did nothing for any of Arthur’s problems – but somehow, Arthur felt better already.

After a few moments of silence, Gwaine picked up and drained his goblet, then stood up, stretching and yawning as if he were still a vagabond and not a knight of Camelot.

“We’re not going to get anything else done, tonight, if we’re seriously considering that the frankincense smugglers are tiny band with a pair of knights getting them through the northern forests,” Gwaine said. He reached out for the wine pitcher – then stopped.

Arthur could have let that drop. In many ways, he should have.

This was not one of those ways.

“You know,” he said, as Gwaine clenched his fist in the air as he stared at the pitcher of wine. “For all that you feel so confident about our future together…”

He tilted his head towards the goblets, the pitcher.

Gwaine smiled humorlessly at him.

“My confidence in the future doesn’t mean the past doesn’t still hurt,” he said, curling his other hand around his fist and still looking at the pitcher – though he didn’t seem to actually be seeing it. “He still lied to us all – me included. That’s years of lies and mistrust and…and while I know it will all fade, eventually, it still hurts _now_ , and that-”

He cut himself off, and reached forward.

Arthur put his hand on top of the pitcher.

“I think we’ve both had enough for tonight,” he said quietly.

It was time he started to look after his friends, again.

“That was more water than wine,” Gwaine said, making no move to take the pitcher anyway.

Arthur just looked at him pointedly, at his slightly trembling hand up in the air. With a sigh, Gwaine dropped his hand to his side.

“…I suppose I’ve wallowed long enough,” he murmured, staring longingly at the drink before turning away.

“There will be plenty more wine to come,” Arthur promised. “But for tonight – let’s stop hiding away from our problems, here and now.”

Gwaine didn’t smile, exactly, but there was warmth in his eyes as he nodded. “Anything else?”

Arthur looked down at the maps. “Among our little round table – who is patrolling, tomorrow?”

“Leon is taking the river,” Gwaine said immediately, because no matter how much he imbibed, he never let it stop him from doing his duties. “And Percival along the edge of the Ascetir forests. Why?”

“Switch Percival with whoever was going to go with Leon,” Arthur said. “And let’s join them, and bring Elyan with us. I think we should have a day to ourselves.”

This time, Gwaine did smile, nodding his head and bidding Arthur good night before he left, without so much as a glance to the wine.

Arthur finished his own goblet, then left the rest there for a maid to take care. Tomorrow evening, Arthur would be finalizing a deal with Nemeth, whatever it would be, and probably need to decide on a course of action for the smugglers, and the granaries, and all the other little and lard minutiae of running a kingdom.

But tonight, he would come up with a way to bring his men back together again. He couldn’t fix his kingdom and he couldn’t fix himself, but at least he could fix this.

It wasn’t quite the Act of His Reign, but he supposed it was a start.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to get this out yesterday, since it was my birthday and I always try to update things on my birthday. Real life...happened, as it is wont to do, so it's a day late. But better late than never has basically been the MO of this series. :)


	5. Chapter 5

~*~

It was a testament to how dire the situation with Morgana was getting that the Council only put up the most rhetorical of protests when Arthur brokered away Gedref for promises of arms and men should Camelot come under attack in the future.

Half of them even commended Arthur on the idea before the Nemeth entourage arrived to the meeting.

Except, of course, Agravaine. He claimed to find it pointless.

“There is no guarantee they will honor such an accord,” Agravaine said. “A marriage, Arthur, or at least a deal for tangible goods -”

“Nemeth and Camelot have been amicable allies for generations,” Arthur said. “Even if we have been rather distant ones. They will honor the accord. If they don’t, we will eventually make them pay for breaking their word – if Morgana doesn’t end up making them regret not helping us turn her away.”

“Arthur, please, see reason-”

“I am,” Arthur said curtly.

Agravaine looked to the rest of the council, but Geoffrey was already drafting the initial terms, and even Lord Dunham was nodding along to the terms as being dictated.

The man sighed. “I fear, Arthur-”

“I know,” Arthur said, turning his face away from the man to devote false sincerity to his voice. “I know you are just looking out for me, but I have to look out for Camelot.”

“…if you think this is right,” Agravaine said, doing nothing to disguise how much he _didn’t_ think so from his voice. That alone told Arthur that this was a good tactical decision.

Of course, the promise of aid wasn’t all Camelot received – lowered tariffs, contributing a larger share of the funding for certain roads, and greater effort in hunting down the frankincense smugglers were also gifts of Nemeth for the land of Gedref. But no one in Arthur’s council even bothered pretending these were as important as the promise of aid against an attack in the near future.

Unsurprisingly, though, Mithian was the one who asked, “You need our aid to fight your sister, should she attack again?”

He should oppose the use of the familial title, but instead he said simply, “Yes.”

Lord Dunham and Sir Kay both glared at him for letting someone still describe an enemy of Camelot as a member of his family, but Arthur kept his focus on Mithian.

“Her attacks have been increasing, and hitting closer and closer to the core of Camelot, to the people immediately around me,” Arthur said. “She is doing something big, and soon. I do not know what it will be, but I have to be ready for it. She will devastate Camelot if she gets her hands on it – and she won’t stop there.”

Mithian nodded understandingly. “Your father helped mine with the rebellion in their youth, so I’m sure my father will be happy to help you.” She paused. “I’m still sorry I never got to meet her before. People who have always insisted we would have gotten along.”

Sir Kay looked ready to get angry about her potentially sympathizing with an enemy of Camelot, so Arthur quickly cut in. “Had you met her before her kidnapping and Morgause happened to her, you two would have been fast friends.”

“Before Morgause happened to her?” Mithian asked curiously.

Immediately, Sir Kay turned his glare on Arthur, confusing Mithian’s advisors when Arthur did nothing about it save ignore him again.

“Second only to my future queen,” Arthur said. “I am probably the person who knew Morgana best as a child and is still alive, today. And she has changed too much, too quickly, for me to easily believe the change was entirely natural, or of her own choices.”

It was a strange parallel interaction occurring as Arthur and Mithian kept their conversation and focus on each other, whilst Arthur’s advisors were sighing and rolling their eyes in exasperation while Mithian’s own council stared in bewilderment at such open display of their doubt in the king – and more importantly, the king _letting_ them express such doubt.

“I don’t suppose you will explain that?” Mithian asked, clearly registering the subtle exchanges around them while also pretending to ignore it. “It sounds like you think her betrayal was the result of magic.”

“Not the betrayal, or at least not on its own,” Arthur said. “She certainly has her reasons, but that she betrayed me is not what makes me suspect enchantment, but _how_ she betrayed me.”

Mithian gave him a look demanding explanation. Arthur outranked her and really should have told her to mind her station, but honestly he couldn’t be bothered with the farce, not today.

This was probably revealing too much, to a relative foreigner no less. But while Arthur may not have been as adept at politics as Morgana, he knew a thing or two about it, himself – and one of the most effective ways of manipulating perception was to lay down the foundations early, thinly, and firmly, such that as few people as possible even noticed. After that – build up your position with subtlety, brick-by-brick.

This wasn’t thinly, but it would be early and it would be firmly, and it might one day be the only thing to save his sister’s life.

“She was a good warrior,” Arthur said carefully, fighting down the strong urge to look down at the table, his goblet, the window, anywhere else but her face. Father had spent years drilling that habit out of him, and today Arthur only indulged it around those he knew would take no offense – which mostly just mean Gaius, Merlin, Guinevere, and the knights. And Agravaine, but Arthur tried to keep an eye on his uncle’s expressions for a different reason entirely. “But she was an even better politician, and she always had great love for the people.”

Mithian raised a bemused eyebrow at that. “I’ve heard she is nothing like that, now.”

Arthur nodded in affirmation. “Had she wanted to take Camelot for herself, the Morgana I knew would have manipulated politics and staged a coup within the Court, or merely turned the people of Camelot against us. She would have used politics, or at most, she would have killed just my father and myself and then taken control in the resulting chaos. There are variety of other methods of taking control, all far more effective than what she ultimately did.”

He took a deep breath. “If it were just Morgana betraying me – that I could…understand. That could be her and her alone. But that she suddenly thought invasion was the best way to take Camelot for herself? That sounds more like something her sister would do, not herself. She could have taken Camelot so effectively on her own – she could have made Camelot, its people and its Court, give itself over to her with just a bit of patience and manipulation. She could have made everyone love her and hate us and taken Camelot in the most effective way possible: the kingdom giving itself to her. But she didn’t.”

He smiled grimly, hiding the pain thinking of Morgana always brought, these days. “The Morgana I knew would have _had_ Camelot by now, and that she doesn’t, tells me it is not the Morgana I knew who is acting.”

“If it isn’t?” Mithian asked. “Will you still kill her?”

“If I have to,” Arthur said. Let Agravaine take that to her, let his council know he is not placing her above Camelot, and let the rest of Camelot know he still cares for her. “But I hope that I can cure her, instead.”

Mithian looked dubious. Rightly so, not that Arthur wanted to admit it.

Sadly, kings rarely got to do what they wanted.

“I wish you luck with that, then,” she said, finally, reaching for a quill. “It sounds like you will need all the help you can get.”

~*~

It was one of the tensest journeys Arthur had ever made without an active, imminent threat to watch out for.

They were knights of Camelot and did their jobs, scouting around, clearing or marking points of ambush and making sure their presence was noted by any bandits that might have been looking to this road for good pickings.

But it was done with almost no words shared between them.

Arthur was actually relieved when they reached the small river – large creek, really – that marked the end of their path today. When she left tomorrow, Mithian’s guards would take over completely from this point onwards.

He dismounted, leading Hengroen to a luscious patch of foliage right by the creek. One by one, the other knights did the same.

Gwaine was still tying the knot in his own horse’s reigns when Percival said, “This is ridiculous.”

Every looked at him, while he looked at Arthur.

“You didn’t come out here for a scouting trip, sire,” Percival said. “And you didn’t bring all of us together to water our horses.”

“You’re right,” Arthur said softly. Looking over his men – all of them carefully not looking at each other – he tried to find the right words to say, tried to understand how to even start this conversation.

Half a king’s measure was in choosing the right words at the right time. A good speech could undo a bad law, and words of power could go a long way to covering for a reign of weakness. Arthur had read and studied the prose of old, from the poetry of the Saxons to the speeches of the Romans, to always know what to say.

So of course, instead of anything dignified and beautiful, he blurted out, “I miss you.”

Clearly, none of them expected that. Just as well – Arthur hadn’t, either.

He’d gotten a little too accustomed to letting Merlin help him speak his mind.

“We’re right here,” Elyan said with little conviction.

“In body, and in mind,” Arthur said. “But hardly in spirit.”

He swallowed, trying to balance choosing his words with simply pouring out what he felt in his soul.

“We barely speak to each other, except to throw around accusations and blame or to spy on each other,” Arthur said quietly. “We avoid each other as much as we can, and when we can’t, none of us look into each other’s eyes, anymore. We’re…” He laughed, broken and bitter, startling the others. Probably because it sounded like the sob it felt like. “We act like a proper king with proper knights, and I hate it.”

“So, what?” Gwaine snapped. “We’re just going talk and everything will get better?”

“We have to start somewhere,” Arthur said.

“Well I, for one, think this is a good place to start,” Percival said with a softly encouraging smile.

“You seem awfully invested in this,” Elyan muttered.

“Of course I am!” Percival said. He seemed shocked by the idea that he wouldn’t be. “You…you are all my best friends, why would I-”

“The best of friends make the worse of enemies, Sir Percival,” Leon said darkly.

“So you would have us all hate each other?” Percival demanded.

“I’m trying to avoid that,” Arthur cut in. Percival didn’t appear to hear him, focused on Leon as he was.

“We’ve already lost Lancelot to the Veil, and Gwen to Morgana’s attacks,” he said.

“We haven’t _lost_ her, she’s coming back!” Elyan snapped.

“This is when we have to stick together the most,” Percival said, tearing his gaze away from Leon to look at each of them in turn.

Arthur fought the strong urge to flinch in shame when Percival’s gaze landed on him. Percival was normally such a quiet man – and even when he did speak, it was in soft and measured tones, meant to reassure and comfort. His voice was as much a source of reassurance and safety as his body and sword were.

Once, not too long after Morgana’s betrayal and the first battle for Camelot, Arthur had watched the masons destroy an entire section of the damaged wall just off the main gate, opting to simply rebuild from scratch rather than try to repair it. He’d walked across that wall so many times, and for most of his life it had been one of the first things he’d see every time he looked outside his window.

Seeing Percival’s wet eyes and hearing the unshed tears in his voice, Arthur felt like he was standing in the courtyard all over again, watching the architecture come down in pieces – one of the greatest mainstays of his life reduced to nothing more than a pile of rubble before his eyes.

“You’re all the only family I have left,” Percival said, broad shoulders falling like grieving boulders as he looked between them all with desperate eyes. “I’ve already lost one. I can’t lose another, I can’t go through that again.”

“We’re not dead, yet,” Elyan pointed out.

“ _Yet_ ,” Leon just had to add. Elyan glared at him.

“That’s just brilliant,” Gwaine said bitterly. “Let’s all talk about our feelings-”

“Forget the feelings,” Elyan said immediately, turning and narrowing his eyes at Gwaine. “Let’s talk about what actually happened.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Leon demanded. “Merlin lied to us, all of us, for years.”

“Funnily enough, so did I,” Gwaine said. “No one seems to care-”

“Being a noble isn’t against the laws of Camelot,” Leon said. “Being magic is.”

“ _Being_ magic?” Gwaine said. “So, what, a misfortune of birth means we kill people when they’ve committed no crimes?”

Arthur winced. That was exactly what Arthur had been thinking for a while, even before he knew Merlin had magic of his own.

“Merlin has used the magic he was born with, that’s plenty of crime he has committed,” Leon said.

“For Arthur,” Percival said. “He did it all for Arthur, how can you just ignore that?”

“Did he?” Leon demanded, his hand drifting towards his sword. Damnit, this was not what Arthur wanted. “And for that matter – maybe you have a point, Gwaine. Maybe you should answer for your own lies.” __

“I have no cause to make him do so, Sir Leon,” Arthur said immediately, forcing a little more royal gravitas into the title and name. Leon turned sharply away, backing down at the implicit command but clearly still ready for a fight.

“He was afraid for his life,” Gwaine said. “He was afraid that we would turn on him and kill him despite everything he has done for us and for Camelot – of course he lied. I don’t blame him. How often has he stood and watched as we drove Druids out of Camelot with sword and fire? How many executions of his own kind did he see when Uther was king?”

“They were executed for their crimes,” Leon started, but even now, his voice was weakening. It was the rhetorical exercise of one born and raise in a kingdom that hated magic as much as Camelot did – and one which Arthur couldn’t let Leon drag out to its completion.

“No,” Arthur said, cutting in. “They weren’t. Not all of them. Some of them had done no harm to anyone or anything and still got killed.”

He shut his eyes, remembering the shrine and the raid, and the Druid boy he’d helped Merlin and Morgana shelter so long ago. He’ll be almost grown, soon, a young man in his own right – if he was still alive.

“I’ve killed innocent children,” Arthur said. “For no other reason than magic. _That_ is a crime, and I will not pretend there was any justice in what I did.”

Leon whirled around at that. “I understand, Arthur, but that doesn’t excuse Merlin lying for us. I’m not saying we should execute him! But that doesn’t mean we can trust him, anymore, either.”

“We’ve trusted him thus far,” Percival said insisted.

“Does that mean anything?” Elyan asked, miserably and quietly.

“And we used to trust Morgana, too,” Leon said. “You – you all came after her invasion, so you don’t remember. But everyone loved her when she was still here, and…look at where we are, now.”

Arthur wanted to protest, wanted to insist that it wasn’t the real Morgana they were at war with, but now was not the time. Besides, such instance would only fall on deaf ears – Leon remembered Morgana from _before_ too well, compared to the others who only knew her _after_.

“Even if he had good reason,” Leon said. “He still lied. That can’t be forgotten.”

“But it can be forgiven!” Percival said, cutting in with his voice as much as his step.

“Should it be?” Elyan asked. “Because I haven’t lived in Camelot for all my life like Leon and Arthur, but…my father died because of magic, and every time something devastates Gwen, magic lies at the root.”

He turned and looked apologetically to Arthur. “I care for you and respect the laws of Camelot, I really do…”

That was not a good sign.

Elyan turned his attention back to the others and said, “But if he had magic all along – why is my father dead, and why did my sister have to get hurt so much?”

That brought everyone up short – except Leon, who just snorted.

“Probably because he didn’t want to expose himself,” he said darkly. “He would-”

“He would protect himself,” Gwaine growled immediately. “Of course he would. And none of us know what happened – maybe he tried and couldn’t do anything. Maybe circumstances were just beyond his power.”

“What even is his power?” Elyan asked. “Because if he could, if he could have stopped all that-”

“I doubt it,” Arthur said. “I…your father…”

He could’ve sworn there was a stone in his throat at that moment. They didn’t talk about it and Arthur always tried not to think about it, but some days, there was just no escaping that Guinevere’s father had been killed by his own – and for that, Elyan had good reason to doubt Arthur.

“He was confronted by soldiers in the dungeons,” Arthur said. “A whole team of guards and knights, and…I’m not sure even Emrys could have done anything at that point, forget Merlin.”

“About that,” Leon said. He turned to Gwaine. “Have you thought about the fact Merlin may be in league with Emrys?”

Gwaine clenched his jaw. “I hope not. I hope he has better sense than that. But even if he did, I could still understand – as long as Emrys appeared to continue working in Camelot’s favor, then of course Merlin would work with him. Merlin would be in league with anyone to protect us and Camelot and Arthur.”

Merlin used to work with Father for Arthur’s sake, and that led to a bitter laugh Arthur didn’t try to contain.

“Sire?” Percival asked.

“Merlin worked with my father to protect me,” Arthur said. “And he’d known Morgana was going to betray us before it happened – he was trying to stop her without anyone knowing so the family wouldn’t be ripped apart.”

Leon’s pursed his lips. “Or maybe there’s a longer game at hand that none of us can see.”

Intellectually, Arthur knew that Leon didn’t believe half of what he was saying. Leon was always a more rational counterpoint to the rest of them, challenging them at every turn not for pride, but for practice.

But emotionally, he couldn’t help but pointedly nod along when Elyan demanded, “Really?” Leon look at Elyan head-on as he continued. “I’m hardly advocating his absolute innocence, but I think Merlin is probably incapable of a long-term plan like what you’re implying.”

“If he were, then that’s exactly what he would want us to think, isn’t it?” Leon offered.

“I can’t believe you,” Gwaine said incredulously. “What, you think he’s been in league with Morgana for all this time?”

Leon turned to Arthur. “You say that you think Morgana isn’t herself, but someone else? You are looking at Morgause, Arthur – but what if it was Merlin?”

Arthur froze, save for his throat working to swallow down the proverbial boulder.

“I’ve…” He shuddered. “I’ve considered that, Leon. But that goes back to the original reason I suspected Morgana isn’t herself in the first place – if Merlin were truly that capable, then he would _have_ Camelot by now, or Morgana, or…whatever.”

“As I said, sire, there may be something even bigger happening than we can see,” Leon said.

“Bigger than Camelot?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“What would be bigger than Camelot?” Percival asked.

“Albion? All of it?” Leon pointed out. He winced as he realized how ridiculous that sounded, but kept charging forward. “Maybe Merlin or Morgana intend to rule it all.”

“So you think Merlin has been plotting since he was, what, barely of age? You think he came to Camelot barely into manhood and already part of a plot to take over all of Albion? Really?”

“It’s not impossible,” Leon said.

“But extremely improbable,” Arthur said, which Leon didn’t even try to present a challenge to. “Let us be honest with ourselves – if they were working together, they would definitely have Camelot by now, and would likely be well on their way to having all of Albion already.”

“Regardless of what he is or is not planning, Merlin still lied to us,” Elyan said.

“But he never actually betrayed us,” Gwaine pointed out.

“The lies are treason enough,” Leon said, and turned to Gwaine. “And maybe not even just his.”

“You think hiding an origin that has no bearing on my loyalties now is treason?” Gwaine demanded darkly, his own hand going to his sword in a horrific mirror of Leon’s own, tense stance.

“That you aren’t siding with Arthur is a treachery in and of itself!” Leon shouted.

Then, to Arthur’s horror, he pulled out his sword.

Breathing in with sharp shock, Arthur stepped towards them, because the last thing he needed was these two trying to kill each other – here and now of all places. However, Percival, eyes wide, shook his head, apparently seeing something Arthur didn’t. He even held out an arm to stop Elyan from stepping in between the two angry knights.

“Oh, for God’s sake, even _Arthur_ isn’t siding with Arthur!” Gwaine snapped back, unsheathing his own sword.

Leon didn’t say anything to that, probably because it was true and they all knew it.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes and started to lift his sword, saying, “Morgana was one of the most gracious ladies of this court, and look how she turned out! Why should I expect any better of you? Why should I trust you when you’ve lied to us all before?”

Gwaine raised his own sword, and his foot started sliding forward, until he was standing ready to charge.

“And how am I expected to trust you when you are so quick to turn your back on us?” Gwaine demanded in return.

At that, at the implication that Leon was disloyal, the knight raised the sword above his head, knees bending and back straightening into proper form, and Gwaine started moving his shoulders to defend himself, and Percival let Elyan go forth with a hand to his own sword, ready to intervene-

“I trusted you.”

Arthur had spoken quietly, without preamble, but still, all the knights froze.

One by one, they turned to look at Arthur.

“When you kept Merlin’s capture from me,” Arthur said, crossing his arms. “And his enchantment. One of my best friends was captured by an enemy of Camelot, tortured, then enchanted to kill me, and all of you kept it from me.”

With slow, halting movements weighted down with shame, Gwaine and Leon lowered their weapons.

“You hid your true origins from us,” Arthur said to Gwaine, then turned to Leon. “And despite no evidence that they had intentions against Camelot, you turned your back on Gwaine and Merlin.” He jerked his thumb at Elyan. “He has repeatedly and consistently admitted to working for his own family’s goals and benefits, and has good reason to harbor hatred against me after my father killed his. Percival’s only home and income today is from me. For all I know, all of this is him manipulating me to make sure he keeps his wealth.” When they all opened their mouths in protest, Arthur held up a hand to forestall them. “I know he isn’t, but he could be.”

He held arms out wide, indicating the lot of them, as all of their gazes started to fall.

“Why should I trust _any_ of you?”

“…you shouldn’t, sire,” Leon whispered.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t,” Arthur agreed, dropping his arms at his side. “And yet, I do.”

They all flinched at that.

“I trust you, anyway, because in all this time, you have never misled me on the most important portions of your hearts,” Arthur said. “Your friendship with me, your loyalty to Camelot, your love for each other – all of that was true.”

The four men still wouldn’t look up, and Arthur sighed, taking a moment to rub his face in exhaustion. No matter how much rest he got or how well he ate, he always seemed to be tired, these days.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of tired that could be fixed with more food or sleep.

“Quite frankly, none of us should be making a habit out of this,” Arthur said, dropping his hand and looking at them. “But we did – and sometimes with good reason.”

Then took a deep breath, and made one of the hardest confessions in his life:

“You were probably right not to tell me about Morgana capturing and enchanting Merlin.”

All their heads snapped up, the four of them staring at him in shock. Percival actually gaped for a moment until Gwaine distractedly swatted at his jaw without looking away from Arthur.

“You were right,” Arthur repeated. He paused again, because he hated saying this, hated it with all his heart, but if he didn’t say it now-

Their kingdom was one based off of friendship, fraternity, and family – one chosen, not born. Camelot might fall if he didn’t speak his mind _now_.

“I would have stormed off after Morgana,” Arthur said. “And likely would have gotten myself killed and thrown Camelot into chaos, all for the sake of one man. I would have been wrong, I _know_ I would have been wrong, but that is what I would have done. I can’t even promise that I wouldn’t do that, now, because I care that much for Merlin.”

At that, the knights’ expressions grew surprised – except Leon, whose own countenance became apprehensive.

“…even now that you know Merlin is magic?” he asked.

Arthur slowly nodded. “Even now that I know he’s magic.”

“Sire,” Leon said lowly. “What if Merlin has been working with Morgana all this time?”

“Then they would _definitely_ have had Camelot by now,” Arthur reiterated. Leon grimaced, presumably seeing Arthur’s point, while Elyan and Gwaine snorted in amusement. Percival, however, still looked concerned.

“What are we going to do?” Percival asked. “About Merlin? About all of this?”

That was the armor-piercing question. He looked around at his men, the ones who stood by Arthur’s side when the world was falling to pieces around him.

Them, along with a physician, a blacksmith…and a sorcerer.

“Merlin owes us apologies,” Arthur said, crossing his arms. “But I think we all owe him one, ourselves.”

“He’s the one who lied to us!” Leon immediately protested.

“Have we ever given him reason not to?” Gwaine said.

“That’s not the point,” Elyan started.

“I _know_ that’s not the point,” Arthur cut in. His arms were crossed so tightly, he was almost hugging himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen them. “Regardless of what any of us did or did not know, Merlin has lived in constant and well-founded terror that we would kill him, and he has lived this way for _years_. Yet he has still befriended us, cared for us, and protected us. I…I want that back.”

That was the simple truth. His friends, his family he chose for himself when the one he was born with fell to pieces around him.

“I want Guinevere back at my side. I want Merlin to be his insolent self again.” He gestured between the knights. “I want my chosen brothers back together again. And yes, I will be honest, I would like to have my sister back, too.”

He clenched his fists, and finally made himself uncross his arms.

“I don’t know how much of that I will achieve,” Arthur said. “But I _won’t_ know until I try. So that is what I am going to do. I’ve started here with you, and I have no intention of stopping.”

For a few moments, his words hovered in the air, waiting to see if the knights would listen to him. Arthur could’ve sworn that even the trees stopped rustling and the wind paused in its path, the whole world leaning forward and waiting. He knew that he wasn’t even breathing, desperately listening for a response for his knights.

Thankfully, they didn’t make him wait long.

“Then we won’t, either,” Percival said finally, with his typical quiet strength. He smiled at Arthur. “I’ll always follow your lead, sire.”

“I can’t let you do something I wouldn’t,” Gwaine said, with a small, sad smile on his face as he sheathed his sword.

“I might as well make sure you’re all on the right course, since Gwen isn’t here to keep track,” Elyan said, a deliriously relieved smile growing on his face.

They all turned to Leon, who smiled sadly at them all.

“…I think, for once, I might be a bit slower than the rest of you,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and thankfully added, “But I _will_ be following you.”

Someone sniffed. Arthur had no idea who, and he didn’t ask, and he didn’t try to see for himself. Instead, he told Leon, “Sheath your sword so we can get back to Camelot. The horses must be tired of listening to our bickering.”

The joke was terrible, but the knights all laughed anyway, because it wasn’t really the joke they were laughing at.

It was the laughter of sword-shocked soldiers after a battle, unable to believe they were still alive. It was the laughter after a close tournament, when the blood was still rushing from the fight while the crowd was cheering. It was the laughter of a simple meal with his friends after a long day’s arduous work.

It was the laughter of relief, of finally coming home.

Leon put his sword back at his side, and together, they approached the horses again, who indeed seemed to have been on the verge of napping.

When the horses were mounted and they were meandering their way towards Camelot, Arthur gently guided Hengroen until he was in line with his men.

“Thank you,” Arthur said to them as they approached the main road home. “All of you. I know that none of this is easy-”

“We’re not here for ‘easy’,” Percival pointed out.

Arthur nodded. “I know you’re not – but…” He gestured towards the forest, and vaguely back towards the city. “That doesn’t mean this isn’t hard.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Gwaine said as they directed their horses onto the main road. “We can do it.”

There was another sniff – Arthur very pointedly didn’t look at Percy – as the rest of the men laughed. A little broken and halting, but a balm to his soul nonetheless. Every home endured rough weather, and all anyone could do is rebuild and repair, and continue living on.

“You do realize I sit on the throne, now, right?” Arthur said with a smile, not bothering to hide his relief at their affirmation.

“Fine,” Gwaine said, with a ridiculous smile of his own. “We can do it, _my Queen_.”

“That’s better,” Arthur said with a firm, satisfied nod.

“I think Gwen might have something to say about that,” Leon said, voice sardonic but eyes amused.

“She can share the title,” Elyan chimed in, the last one to leave the side path and step his horse onto the main road. “She’s always been good at sharing.”

They all laughed again, and for a few moments there was silence – not the stiff, tense silence of their journey here, but the comfortable companionship of the best friends Arthur could ever hope for.

Arthur took a good look down the road, and turned to squint through the trees at the next mile of road he could catch fleeting sights of after the bend. No one. He listened for the distant sound of horses or wagons, and still nothing.

Good.

With a soft, contained smile, he called out, “One more thing.”

“Yes?” Percival asked curiously from halfway down the line.

“Race you!” Arthur shouted, and promptly kicked Hengroen into gallop.

“Oi!” Gwaine shouted, all the knights voicing their mock-outrage as they also pushed their horses to high speeds.

The road was filled with the pounding of hooves and whooping laughter, and for a little while, Arthur could pretend his world was at peace, again.

~*~

Arthur came home in high spirits from the race and the reconciliation between himself and his men. He didn’t feel like he was floating as he might have in the past – perils of growing up, he supposed, that you never quite shed the weight of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow. But still, he had the hint of a skip in his step for the rest of the day, helping smooth out the final arrangements of Mithian’s departure for the next day.

Even the princess herself commented on it in private, saying to him just before the farewell dinner, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you actually happy, Your Majesty.”

Arthur smiled. “We’ve made a fine bargain, Princess Mithian.”

“Please, Arthur,” she said. “A duty well done wouldn’t do this. Something happened.”

They were in the antechamber just above the main hall, waiting to be announced. The room was bare, save for a slim table with decorative flowers and some candles on it, and Arthur kept his attention on those as he sorted his thoughts out, before facing her.

“Remember, in the corridor – I explained how much I was trying not to die?” he said quietly.

Her gaze went from politely cheerful to shrewd and focused. “Yes.”

“I’ve talked to some people who I’ve been having doubts about, and…I think I can start living, again.”

She blinked, and slowly smiled.

“You’ve reconciled with your manservant?” she asked.

“…not yet,” Arthur said. “I – there were…there was a lot between us that happened, which shouldn’t have. That will take us time to work past…especially me.” He smiled. “But I will. Eventually.”

“That’s good to hear, Arthur,” she said, pressing a hand against his shoulder. For once, it felt like an honest gesture of a friend, instead of the manipulative gesture of a seducer. “Even if this does mean Nemeth stands no chance of hiring him, now.”

At that, he grinned outright. “You really, really don’t.”

She laughed, and at the sound of their announcements, looped her arm through his and let him lead her to the feast.

It was a different kind of relief, to know that tonight was the end of all the machinations. He found that once he wasn’t trying to push her away, he actually enjoyed Mithian’s company, and looked forward to seeing her again. She already pledged to return to Camelot as a representative of Nemeth for his wedding to Guinevere, and tonight, he could even believe that it was an offer of true intentions, a gesture of friendship with no hidden malice.

His good spirits lasted through the meal, the dances, and the small acting troupe’s show, right up until Gwaine managed to find a moment alone with him, just before Arthur was going to leave, himself.

“Agravaine went down to the vaults,” he confided with a hushed voice.

By habit, Arthur looked over to where Agravaine was chatting with a recently widowed noblewoman. Even _he_ looked like he was merely enjoying a party instead of manipulating Arthur’s Court.

“What for?” Arthur asked, tearing his gaze away from his uncle.

“I don’t know,” the knight said regretfully. “But whatever it was, I couldn’t find out without risking his suspicion. I would guess one of the artefacts, but nothing seems to be missing.”

“He may be simply planning on taking something, even if he hasn’t, yet.” Taking a deep breath, Arthur added, “But we’re not going to get anything done tonight. Enjoy yourself-”

“I’m trying not to,” Gwaine said, and for a moment Arthur fretted, until Gwaine merely tipped his goblet towards Arthur.

“Water?” he asked in surprise.

Gwaine smiled, sad but hopeful. “Hard as it is to admit…I think I’ve had enough wine for a while.”

Arthur smiled in return. “Tonight, a few goblets wouldn’t be remiss – but staying away entirely is not a bad idea, either. Well done.” He hoped Gwaine heard every ounce of pride Arthur felt.

He clapped Gwaine on the shoulder, and the knight laughed as he drained his water like it was the wine he clearly wished it were. Gwaine made his way towards one of the maids bearing juices, and Arthur continued on his way towards the opposite corner of the hall, stopping only to bid Mithian a final good night.

In the corner, Merlin was chatting with Percival as he organized the used plates onto a platter for when it was taken down to the kitchens for washing. Elyan passed by, handing his plate to Merlin with a smile and saying something that made all three men laugh.

It would be a while, but Arthur still couldn’t wait to have that back.

Tonight was his first step to getting it.

He walked up to the trio, nodding in greeting-and-goodnight to Elyan and Percival before telling Merlin, “I will be retiring for the night, now.”

Merlin nodded, arranging the last of the plates without looking at Arthur with a firm smile and humorless eyes.

It cut to the core, especially when Merlin bid Percival and Elyan a cheerful goodnight, only for his countenance to go blank again in the relative privacy of the corridors.

The sharp reminder of just how far they had to go almost made Arthur regret having only a few goblets of wine. Almost – for once, he was following Gwaine’s example, and planning on trying to imbibe just a little less than had become his recent habit.

He was reminded, abruptly, of all those months he’d spent worrying that Merlin was drinking too much – before seeing the scars, learning about his capture, before _all_ of this – and laughed quietly to himself. Merlin looked at him strangely from the corner of his eye, but didn’t comment.

Instead, Merlin followed Arthur quietly into his chambers, quickly heading over to the bed to turn down the sheets as Arthur collapsed into his favorite chair. The table was piled high with rejected clothes for tonight’s garb, and the desk was covered in small knives and slips of paper, but otherwise the room was almost pristine.

This time, Arthur would stick to his plan.

“Make the fire, Merlin,” he ordered. But when Merlin started to physically move there, he added, “From over here.”

Merlin froze, staring, clearly trying to figure out Arthur’s game.

“Sometime before I freeze, Merlin,” Arthur said, completely ignoring that it was actually a very nice night. “Set the fireplace without touching it.”

“You know,” Merlin said warily. “If you can’t even say it-”

“Set the fireplace with your _magic_ ,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “Please.”

Merlin startled at the ‘please’, but obligingly nodded.

He was achingly slow about it, but Arthur waited patiently as Merlin lifted up his arm, hand facing the fireplace, eyes on Arthur the entire time.

Then, he…spoke.

The words were ancient, archaic and alive at once, completely beyond understanding yet obvious in their effect. Merlin’s eyes glowed in the dim light of the chambers, for a moment shining like decorative jewels on a dull sword as one by one, the logs beside the fireplace floated from pile to grate.

Arthur flinched when they went up in flames.

Immediately, Merlin’s arm dropped and he started to back away towards the bed. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Arthur said, move his hand like he could physically swipe the apology away. “I am. I asked it of you…” He took his breath. “And I will ask it of you again.”

Merlin stared at him in surprise, looking like he was trying to shrink in on himself.

“You’re…?”

Arthur nodded, confirming both statements. “I need to become accustomed to your magic, Merlin.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’re just as incompetent at it as you are with everything else.”

Slowly, Merlin smiled. “I’ll have you know, I am incredibly skilled with my magic.”

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur leaned back in his chair and gestured around the room, especially the table laden down with clothes. “Let’s see it, then – show me what you can do.”

As the clothes started to float into the air, Merlin was smiling with golden eyes.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check me out on [Tumblr](http://nyxelestia.tumblr.com/)! I'm mostly in Teen Wolf and the MCU, these days, but I'm planning to write the last story of this series for NaNoWriMo, this year. ^_^
> 
> I'm hoping to start posting it to the kinkmeme on Nov. 11, which would be the anniversary of when I first started this series 5 years ago. \o/


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